Vacant Lives
by CelticFaerie2
Summary: HouseWilson hurtcomfort Strong Friendship fic. Ch 15 up! Please R&R!
1. Did The Dog Even Have A Choice?

Title: ((Gah. I have no title. I suck at titles. Hopefully I'll find one soon. In he meantime, it's…uh, Untitled)) Part 1?  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: Life goes on.  
Notes: 1000 words.  
Feedback: PLEASE!

The house was dark, silent, empty when he pulled into the drive. No lights, no dog barking, no flickering of the television in a darkened room. He surveyed the yard, but everything seemed in place. Key in the lock, opening the door. The alarm was activated, and yet there was no dog to greet him.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it, deep in his bones. In his soul. In his heart. In the empty void where his love for Julie lived.

He shut off the alarm, only vaguely aware his fingers were trembling. He took a deep breath, called for the dog. Nothing. But he didn't expect it. The dog was gone, that was obvious. Julie was gone, that was painfully obvious.

i Maybe she took him to the vet, /i he sighed. He knew that wasn't the case. She'd left, and she took the damn dog, his dog, with her. With a deep breath and strong resolve, he searched for a note. Nothing on the fridge, nothing on the table, by the phone, taped to his computer.

There. On his pillow. An envelope. His name, her beautiful, meticulous handwriting. The complete opposite of his careless doctor's chicken scratch writing.

His palms were sweating, his hands shaking as he lifted the flap. Tucked, not sealed. How considerate. She knew he was prone to paper cuts.

He sat on the bed, noting without humor how the mattress sagged under his weight. She'd mentioned maybe getting a new mattress. They hadn't gotten around to it. More specifically, i he /i hadn't gotten around to it.

Before he unfolded the delicate paper, his eyes scanned the room. Everything seemed to be in place. Except the picture of her mother was missing from the table on her side of the bed. Didn't matter. He knew what the note said.

He an a finger along the folds, as if that would make a difference. As if that simple act would lessen the blow. He took a deep breath, wet his lips with his tongue. His eyes glanced at the carefully written words, scanned the pattern of her hand, beautiful, perfect, flawless.

My Dearest James,

I'm sorry it's come to this, but I fear there is no other choice. I can't do this anymore. I just can't. I need time, I need space. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. I know you feel the same. The magic died a long time ago, James. I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be like this.

There's leftover Chinese in the fridge. I'll be in touch. Julie.

He sat for a long time, still as a statue, cold as marble. A thousand thoughts rolled through his mind, a million things he could have done differently over the years, during the past week, two weeks. He'd seen all the signs, the way she looked away when he stepped into the room, the way her back stiffened when he kissed her, the way she smelled of some new, delicate flowered perfume.

The way he'd stayed late at the hospital when he didn't have to, pouring over paperwork late into the night when it could keep till morning. The way he met Greg for dinner in the cafeteria instead of going home. The way his heart failed to flutter, even a little bit, at the sight of her. The way his eyes watched the new afternoon-shift nurse walk past his office.

The reality of it was devastating. Mind boggling, soul crushing, spirit drenching. He'd known it was happening, had felt the gaping hole split wide between their feet each day, every night. He'd nearly welcomed it, until now. Until he held the proof of her unhappiness in his trembling hands. Until he looked around, and realized he was alone. Not even the dog had stayed. He wondered if Julie gave the mutt the choice, or just ushered him into the car and sped away.

The paper fell to the floor. His foot sought to hide it, obliterate it, crush it into nonexistence. It was still here, unchanged except a new crease in the corner and the grey imprint of his shoe imbedded in the milky whiteness of its skin.

There was only one thing to do.

It took three tries to get the number right, and as soon as he heard Greg on the other end of the line, he wondered why he didn't use speed dial. One touch dialing, it would have been so much easier.

"It's your dime," Greg House barked into the phone.

James Wilson took a deep breath. He had to be cool, casual, composed. Greg would know in a millisecond something was wrong. "Busy?"

"You know Stacked is on tonight," House answered.

Wilson nodded, his head in his hands, shoulder holding the phone to his ear. Should have used the speakerphone. Didn't have the inclination to switch over now. "First round's on me."

He knew House knew. He could hear the wheels of realization spinning in his head. He also knew House wouldn't comment. Wouldn't make him say anything over the phone. "I'll swing by and pick you up. Be ready in half an hour. Maybe I'll even let you drive."

Wilson opened his mouth to say something, something like 'thanks' or 'no thanks, I'll

drive myself,' but no words came out, and the line went dead. Wilson's tongue darted out to offer precious moisture to his lips once more as he flipped his cell phone shut.

Half an hour. That didn't give him much time to break down and pull himself back together. He should have waited to call House. He needed to break down. Before he got stone cold drunk.

He paced, reached the farthest wall of his room for the fourth time, and unleashed his fury on the unsuspecting wall. He didn't stop until his knuckles were bleeding, and in need of cleaning.

That's precisely when a pair of headlights pulling into the drive illuminated the room. Greg had impeccable timing.


	2. Beer and Vicodin

Title: ((Gah. I have no title. I suck at titles. Hopefully I'll find one soon. In he meantime, it's…uh, Untitled)) Part 2? ((I am considering "Vacant Life", suggested by a reviewer))  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: Life goes on.  
Notes: 1080 words.  
Feedback: PLEASE!

Greg House let himself in with the key Wilson had given him years ago, a key he rarely used unless Wilson was out of town on a conference and House dropped by to water the plants. "James?" he called, checking in all the rooms downstairs before venturing to the stairs.

He looked up, hopeful Wilson would appear at the crest so he wouldn't have to trek up. Stairs were difficult for him to navigate with a leg that refused to cooperate, and his cane was essentially useless. "Wilson!" he hollered, right foot resting on the first step, muscles clenching in anticipation of the first step.

He rocked back on his left foot, and hooked his cane on the railing. The master bedroom, where he expected to find Wilson, was at the top of the stairs. He could do with out the cane once he got up there.

His right hand gripped the railing to counter his weight as he pulled himself up. Stabbing pain sliced through his right thigh. Not a pleasant feeling. He paused, looked up. If he wasn't worried Wilson had done something stupid up there, he wouldn't have forced himself to make the climb. But the fact Wilson hadn't answered him just wasn't a good sign.

"James!" he called again, sweat beading his forehead at the thought of another step.

"I'm here," James appeared at the bedroom door, then the top of the stairs. His hand looked to be wrapped in a towel. "I was in the bathroom."

House closed his eyes for a moment. Great. Turning around to go back down seemed almost more daunting than going back up. The steps didn't give him much room to navigate, and there was no way to do it without setting his weight on his right foot. A mere second was all it took, and he had to maintain a firm grip on the railing to keep himself upright.

He retrieved his cane, and allowed his shoulder to bear the brunt of his weight again now that he was on level ground. James waited until he cleared the stairs before charging down to the main floor.

"What happened to your hand?" House asked with a quick glance.

"You should see the wall," Wilson answered, and held his arm up.

House lifted the towel. "Pretty."

"I thought so too."

"Want me to wrap it for you?"

"Nah. Once I start drinking I won't even feel it."

The horrific stench of sweat and stale beer assaulted his nose before he was even out of the car. That wasn't good. "What is this place?" he muttered, not really expecting an answer.

Wilson was out of the car, and leaned against the door waiting for House to pull himself up to his feet. "Friend of a patient," he explained with a wave of his hand. "I wanted somewhere different."

"You just want to make sure you won't run into anyone from the hospital." House clarified, and Wilson's silence confirmed the suggestion.

A few minutes later, they sat facing each other across a table and a bottle of beer. House was pretty sure the tap would be watered down, better to stick with the bottle, even if it was more expensive.

The crowd was moderate, but it was still early. Wilson assured him the place would be packed within the hour. Great, just what House was looking for. Bonding with a bunch of thick necked drunks.

House listened to his friend ramble, accentuating the conversation with an occasional grunt or click of his tongue. Wilson swiftly avoided the real issue, which was fine with House. He'd lend Wilson all the support he could manage, but discussing the truth of his wife leaving wasn't within Greg House's comfort zone.

House had seen Wilson through two failed marriages, had seen the third going south much the same as the other two. He'd rarely tried to talk about it with James, though. Failed relationships were a touchy spot with him.

"I need a piss," Wilson announced suddenly and hitched his jeans for effect as he stood. He'd consumed three beers, House figured it to be enough to get a buzz going, but his eyes were still far too focused. He'd need a few more before he forgot why he was drinking.

House nodded. He'd just as soon stay in his chair until the need to urinate was too strong to ignore. Something about hobbling through a bar full of men thick as California Redwoods didn't exactly appeal to him.

He scanned the dimly lit room. A couple of pool tables lay nestled in a somewhat brighter corner, decorated with NASCAR and beer advertisements. House hadn't played pool for…ten years, at least. Not exactly easy to line up shots when one leg was compromised.

House glanced at his watch. 7:42. He sighed and took a drink from his beer.

House sighed. He'd finished his beer. His first, even though James had drank three. James had drank the one meant to be his second. House looked at the empty bottles, as if hoping one would have a little left in it, but Wilson wasn't that careless.

So. It was either sit on his ass and wait for Wilson, or get up and limp over to the bar. He wasn't thrilled with either option.

His watch displayed 7:47. Only five minutes since he'd last looked. Where the hell was James? House looked up toward the bathrooms. A neon sign hung on the wall, pointing the way, and underneath it, a man wiping his hands on his jeans.

The man in question peaked House's interest, though he couldn't say why. With a nod to the bartender, the guy sauntered out the door. Two thuggish looking guys followed. House caught a glimpse of red smeared on a shirt. Looked suspiciously like blood.

House watched them go out the door. Something didn't sit right. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

House glanced around the bar once more, this time to make sure no one was paying him any attention. He wasn't due for another Vicodin yet, but sitting on the hard chair made his hip hurt, and the leg ached from his attempt to climb the stairs at Wilson's place. He swallowed a pill without a drink to ease it down, felt it cling all the way down his throat.

With a grunt, House got to his feet, using the table for extra support. He grabbed his cane, and headed for the bathroom.


	3. The Men's Room

Title: Vacant Lives 3?  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: Life goes on.  
Notes: 1500 words.  
Feedback: PLEASE!

The hallway leading to the bathrooms was narrow and very dark. A trio of barely-dressed women giggled their way out of the bathroom. Arm in arm, they took up the entire width of the hallway, forcing House to step aside next to the payphone.

Moving out of his corner, his cane slipped, and he was grateful for the phone box because it gave him something to catch himself on. He looked down to see a bloody footprint. The trail led from the men's room.

"Fuck. Wilson!" He gripped his cane, but didn't use it. He wasn't even aware of the pain as he took the few steps to the bathroom door. He used the cane to kick the door open, and his teeth cut into his bottom lip to stifle a cry of rage at the sight he saw.

James, on his back, bleeding from his mouth, blood on his thigh, under his back. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack, head lolled to one side. It didn't look good, but even from the doorway, before he could navigate his crippled body into the small room, he could see that James was breathing. Not deeply, but enough to push air.

"Son of a bitch! I need some help in here!" he yelled, his cane effectively holding the door open. The hallway leading to the bathrooms was suddenly vacant. House eased himself to his knees beside James, ignoring the excruciating pain gripping his right thigh. He could literally feel the dead nerves howling, but that was secondary to the scene before him.

"James!" he shifted to take his weight to his right hand and left knee. His left hand went to James's neck, feeling for a pulse, his eyes scanning his friend's body. "Pulse is strong. Hang in there, James. Hang in there." House ran a hand through James' hair, making it stick up from his forehead.

Wilson moaned, his head shifting. "House…"

"I'm here. Don't. Don't move. Lay still. I'm going to call for help."

"No…no hospital…" House was concerned James' words were slurred, his eyes unopened. As if he couldn't open them.

"Right. I'll take you back to my place and heal you with my magic touch." House fumbled with his cell phone, hated the belt clip he wore. His fingers trembled and threatened to misdial. He took a deep breath, eyes focused on the wall because he feared he would lose it if he looked at James.

"911. What's your emergency?" a female voice came over the line.

"A man has been stabbed." House identified himself as a doctor, told her the address of the bar, and assured her he didn't need her to stay on the line. He could handle things at the scene until the paramedics arrived.

"Stay with me, James. You stay with me." House demanded, his tone harsh because it was all he had to hide behind. Inside he was breaking down, he could feel it happening. There was so much blood on the floor, too much blood.

He kept his right hand on the floor, to keep his weight off his knee. His left hand held Wilson's hand, his grip firm, reassuring. "I just…want…sleep."

"No. James. No. You can't sleep. The paramedics are on the way. Hang in there." House looked up to the open door. Amazing how no one had come into the hallway. No one had answered House's screams for help.

Wilson's eyes closed. His body slumped, his grip loosened.

"Fuck. Don't do this to me. James! Damn it!" House let go of Wilson's hand. He inched closer to him, weight fully supported on his knees. He needed both hands now.

He shook Wilson's shoulder. His head rolled easily from side to side.

"Damn it, James! Somebody help! I need some help in here!" House looked down at his friend. James was pale and losing blood way too fast. "Where the hell are the medics?" House grumbled.

There was only one thing he could do. He thumped James' chest with both hands. Still nothing. Another thump earned him a groan. "Come on. Come on, James. Come back to me."

"House…" James rasped. "Hurts…"

"I know. But you're doing good. You are. Just hang in there." House took hold of Wilson's hand again. It felt like a dead fish. House gave a gentle squeeze, but there was nothing from Wilson.

"Hey, buddy. Everything okay in there?"

House looked up. A man stood a few feet from the door. "My friend's been stabbed. I've called for an ambulance. Go out front, see if they're here." House turned his attention back to James. "You still with me?"

Wilson moaned. He turned his face toward House, his eyes unfocused. House squeezed his hand again. "You're doing good, James. You're doing good."

In the silence, House heard the sirens approaching. "You hear that? The medics are coming. You're gonna be just fine."

House shifted himself back a bit. He wanted to be on his feet when the medics got in. The room was so small, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of the way easily. He brought his left foot up, tried to rock his weight onto that leg and pull himself up at the same time. His right leg refused to cooperate, and he was forced to catch himself on his hands.

"Fuck." He dragged himself to the sink, unable to avoid smearing the blood on his pants. He couldn't worry about that now. He had to get up on his feet. He tried again, using the sink for leverage, and failed again.

"How bad are you hurt, sir?" A fresh faced paramedic charged into the bathroom, headed right for House.

"Not me. Him. I'm not hurt. He's been stabbed." House gestured to Wilson who looked more pale than just a few minutes ago.

"911 said a doctor made the call."

"That's me. Dr Gregory House. Princeton-Plainsboro," House answered, irritated the guy was wasting time yakking when he needed to be tending to Wilson. "Your patient is Dr James Wilson, Head Of Oncology at Princeton-Plainsboro. He's had three beers, I wasn't with him when he was attacked. He's been stabbed, right leg and lower back from what I can tell. Possible concussion."

A second medic found his way to the bathroom, and stumbled over House's cane. Any other situation, House would have said something smart. But now, his focus was on James.

He watched silently as the two kids worked, and tried to reevaluate how he could get on his feet. He didn't want to distract the medics from James, but at the same time he knew he wasn't getting up on his own.

He waited until they had Wilson secured on a stretcher. "You think one of you could help me up?"

"You said you weren't hurt." The first medic stated.

He gestured at the cane still lodged under the door. "It's preexisting. Blood clot in my thigh. I need the cane to walk." He hated admitting that out loud. Just saying the word made his nerves twitch.

With one on either side, they eased him to his feet. "The cane? Please?" House prompted. The kid closest to the door wrestled it out and handed it to him.

"House…"

"I'm here, James." House moved to the stretcher. "They're gonna take you now. I'll be right behind you." He looked at the first medic who'd come in. "Take him to Princeton-Plainsboro."

"Princeton General's closer."

"No. He goes to Princeton-Plainsboro." House was surprised he was able to keep up with the stretcher, but he knew it was adrenalin. For the moment, he wasn't feeling his leg, but once he stopped moving… He also knew driving probably wasn't the smartest thing he could do, but he wasn't too thrilled about leaving his car in this neighborhood either.

A crowd had gathered outside the bar, people wondering what the fuss was all about. House paid them no attention. "Hang in there, James. I'll see you in a few minutes." House patted his leg. Wilson moaned, and his eyes fluttered. He raised a hand off the bed, House reached out to clasp it. "Be strong, James."

He watched them load the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. When the rig pulled away, he was left standing on the sidewalk, weary and blood stained, his weight distributed on his left leg and both hands set on the hilt of his cane. His arms were shaking. He needed to sit down.

He swiftly avoided looking at anyone as he limped to his car. He wasn't sure he'd even make it, except he had to. He couldn't collapse. Not yet. He needed to get to the hospital.

"Son of a bitch!" he hollered when he saw his car. The paint had been keyed, the tires slashed. Just what he needed.

He unlocked the passenger door and eased himself into the seat. He needed a few minutes to gather up his strength to make a few phone calls.


	4. Waitin

Title: Vacant Lives 4?  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: Life goes on.  
Notes: 1200 words.  
Feedback: PLEASE!

He sat in the passenger seat of his vandalized car, the door open allowing him to stretch his right leg out, foot on the ground. He'd called his insurance company, he'd called for a tow truck. He'd called Dr Cuddy to inform her of the situation, so she could met Wilson's ambulance at the hospital. He'd called Dr Eric Foreman, one of his own staff, to come pick him up.

He'd talked to the cops, who finally showed up in response to his 911 call. They were milling around, both inside the bar and out in the parking lot, occasionally stopping to talk to potential witnesses. House had told them everything he knew, and had retreated back to his car to be alone. Despite the beer and the extra Vicodin, his leg was giving him fits. He sat with his head tilted back, his hands gently massaging his thigh.

"Hey, man. You need any help?" The voice startled him, he hadn't heard anyone approach. The person came from the back of the car, and House had to sit up and turn a little to see him. He was young, mind twenties, maybe. Well dressed, like Wilson, he stuck out in a place like this.

House took his cane off the driver's seat and tapped it on the ground, hoping he wouldn't have to get out of the car. He wasn't planning to get up until Foreman or the tow showed. "Nah, I'm good."

The kid nodded. "If you say so. That your wallet? Might not want to leave it laying around." The kid pointed under the car. No way House could see under there without getting up. "Hey, no worries. I'll get it."

He recognized it immediately and snatched it from the kid. James' driver's license and hospital ID were there, a few frequent diner cards, the pictures of the dog and Julie that he carried. No cash, no credit cards.

House leaned back against the seat again, with a sound that was half sigh, half growl. So they stabbed him, robbed him, and vandalized the car they assumed was his. Great. "What the hell happened in there?" he muttered to himself.

"Anything I can do?" the kid asked.

House cracked one eye open. The kid was standing there with his arm propped up on the open door. A little too close, and House had to stifle the urge to poke at him with his cane. "Thanks. I got it covered."

"Look. I'm sorry about what happened to your friend. They don't like strangers in this place."

The other eye opened. Twin pools of endless blue. "What do you know about it?"

The kid shrugged. "Not much. My uncle owns the bar. It's a rough neighborhood."

"Found that out," House grumbled. Didn't this kid realize he wasn't in the mood to chat? He was tired, he was worried, he was anxious to get to the hospital. He needed to change his clothes, he needed to be with James.

"Yeah. I hope your friend is okay."

"That my tow truck?" House interrupted, seeing the truck pull into the lot. "Why don't you prove your worth and flag him over here."

House turned completely sideways in the seat and set his left foot on the ground. Right hand gripping his cane, left hand on the door, he pulled himself up. He'd already doubled up on Vicodin, another pill was out of the question. He sighed and limped to the back of the car.

House didn't dare sit down after the tow truck took his car away. The pain in his right leg was worse than usual, and his left hip ached from the strain of going down on it in the bathroom.

He paced a bit, then settled against the wall of the building to wait for Foreman. Luckily no one tried to talk to him, maybe they could tell he wasn't in the mood. All he could think about was James, who was surely at the hospital by now, and wondering where House was, why he wasn't there. Unless he'd lost consciousness on the way, but House couldn't let himself think about that.

He had to believe Wilson was going to be fine. Despite the blood and the image of his friend laying on the bathroom floor. Surely it would take more than a couple pokes with a knife to keep James Wilson down.

He was still waiting for Foreman when his cell phone rang. The caller ID displayed Cuddy's name. "Cuddy?" He yelped. "What's going on? Are you with him?"

"They're prepping him for surgery now."

House hooked his cane on his left arm, freeing his hand to rub his face. Surgery. At least he was still alive. "Is he awake?"

"They said he lost consciousness five minutes out." House couldn't stifle a sharp intake of breath. "His stats are strong, House. But he's in bad shape. I'm sure I don't have to tell you it's too soon to know anything concrete. Where are you?"

"Foreman hasn't shown yet," House sighed, looked out to the street.

"I'm sure he'll be there soon."

"He better." House muttered, left off the threat to fire him. "Keep me updated."

"I will. But there won't be anything to report until he's out of surgery."

"I know." House sighed. "I think that's Foreman's car. I'll see you soon." He flipped his phone shut and replaced it on his belt clip.

House pushed off the wall and went out to meet Foreman. Foreman parked and swung his door open. "You look like shit." Foreman walked around the front of the car.

"I feel like it too. I'm sorry about the blood. I'll pay to have your car cleaned." House opened the passenger door, turned himself around to sit sideways. Foreman moved forward like he meant to help, but backed off when House glared at him.

They didn't talk much during the drive. House kept his head back, eyes closed. He tried to concentrate on the steady rhythm of the road, and let that lull his mind into a fog.

"Take me to the Ambulance Bay," House instructed when he opened his eyes to see they were approaching the hospital.

"You know they won't let me near it in a car."

"Yes, they will." House's tone left no room for argument.

The security guard flagged Foreman down. He had no choice but to stop. "Sir, you're not allowed back here."

"Dr Gregory House," House showed his ID. "He's dropping me off."

"Sir, civilian vehicles are not –"

"Do you enjoy your job? Because I'm sure I could arrange for a replacement within the hour. I have been paged to an extremely critical patient, and I assure you, you do not want to be responsible for any further delay."

The guard wore a conflicted look, but finally stepped aside. House took a deep breath. His hands were shaking terribly, there was no point even trying to put his wallet back in his pocket.

"You need any help?" Foreman asked. House had the door open, his body turned sideways. He grit his teeth as he surged upward. Without a word to Foreman, he used his cane to kick the door shut.


	5. Restlessness

Title: Vacant Lives 5?  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: House gets to the hospital, Wilson gets out of surgery  
Notes: 1900 words.  
Feedback: PLEASE!

Security caught up with him a few steps inside the Emergency Room doors. "Sir, can I help you?"

House flashed his hospital ID. "Dr Gregory House. I'm here to see a patient."

The guard looked him over, eyebrows arched. "You're not hurt?" His eyes flicked to the cane, back up to House's face. He didn't balk at the intensity of House's stare. "I can't let you go in there looking like that."

"I was at the scene. It's the patient's blood."

"Sir…" The guard started again. House was in no mood for this kind of resistance.

"Is there a problem?" Dr Lisa Cuddy came up behind House. She didn't spare the guard so much as a glance. "Thanks, Frank. I've got it from here. Dr House, we've been waiting for you. I sent Dr Cameron to bring you some clean clothes. In he meantime, let me update you on the patient's condition."

She put her hand on his left arm, leading him away from the guard. "He was only doing his job."

"He was about to lose his job."

"You look like shit."

House stopped, unaware his right hand gripped his cane perhaps a little too tight. "I'll change as soon as I can. After I see him."

"You can't see him. He's in surgery. No way you're getting in there now. You'd contaminate everything. Even if it is his blood."

"Did you send Cameron for clothes?"

"No. But I will. I said that for Frank's benefit.."

House rubbed his face. "There's probably a T-shirt up in my office. I don't know about pants."

"You could always wear scrubs. We have plenty of those around here."

House took a few steps toward a row of chairs backed against a wall. He tried not to wince or groan as he sat down, but couldn't stop his hands from going to his thigh, fingers pressing into the skin, massaging the aching muscles.

"What do we know?"

"Only what I've already told you. We'll get an update when he gets through the surgery. I told them to let me know if anything went wrong. I haven't heard a peep." Cuddy studied him a moment. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, mouth drawn in a tight line. "You said you weren't with him when it happened."

House sighed. She was just concerned about his leg. "He went to the bathroom. I stayed at the table."

"If it's still bothering you when Wilson gets settled, I want to have a look at it."

"It's fine," House insisted. He attempted to make his point by lurching to his feet and making off down the hallway, but he didn't quite make it. His leg screamed at him and he went back down into the chair with a sharp cry.

Cuddy nodded. "Point taken."

"I went down hard on my knees when I saw him. Doesn't take much to strain the leg. It's fine." He moved his hands away from his leg, trying to illustrate his point.

"If you say so," Cuddy gave him a look to say she didn't believe him.

House pressed his palms against his leg, trying a different arc of pressure. "Will you just find me some clothes?"

"You should go upstairs and take a shower. The heat will help."

"Maybe later."

Cuddy shook her head. "No. Now. House. Once he gets out of surgery, you're going to be right there with him. You won't leave him to take a shower. Do it now. You can't do anything for him for a while. Use the time you have."

House gnawed on his bottom lip as Cuddy's words rolled around in his head. She knew more than she was saying about Wilson. House sighed. "Fine. You made your point, Mommy." He would ask her about it after his shower.

He moved carefully to the edge of the seat, taking it slower this time. Both hands on his cane. He took a deep breath.

"Do you need me to help you?"

"No." He gave himself a silent count. One. Two. Three. He bit into his bottom lip as his right leg balked against the pressure of his weight. The cane helped him steady himself. "Where is he?"

"OR 4."

"I'll see you there?"

"I was only down here because I knew you'd come in through ER."

House nodded. He felt like his feet were incased in cement, both legs aching, screaming with every step. He was glad Cuddy didn't try to walk with him, he wasn't in the mood for company.

He avoided his office completely, and went straight to the supply closet for a set of scrubs. He chose light blue, and headed to the showers. He knew the heat would help his legs, but he wouldn't be in here long enough to make a real difference.

He took far too long getting out of his soiled clothes, so that by the time he actually got in the shower, he was feeling anxious and antsy. He needed to be with Wilson, not worrying about how clean he was behind the ears.

He was momentarily shocked at the amount of blood that washed down the drain. Wilson's blood, he reminded himself.

Cameron and Foreman were sitting with Cuddy in the waiting room. No one commented on the scrubs, but he saw how they all looked him over. Foreman was the first to look away.

"Tell me," he demanded, eyes boring into Cuddy.

"Tell you what?" Cameron asked.

Cuddy stood. "There's swelling around his spinal chord. It's too early to tell. But Dr Hicks is concerned."

The entire waiting room fell away into blackness. Only Cuddy remained in his line of vision. He swayed, and it would have been so easy to let himself go down. He dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself centered.

He blinked, brought the room around him back into focus. "Dr Cameron. Glad you're here. I need a favor." House turned slightly, pivoting on his left foot. "I found Wilson's wallet at the scene. All his credit cards are missing. I could assume Julie took them, but since Wilson was at work when she left I doubt that's likely. I need you to check his office, possibly go to his house, and find the statements. I'll need his mortgage statement and bank records too, so you'll have to trek to his house anyway. Here's the key." He dug in his pocket, fishing around his wallet.

Cameron reached for it, brushing her hand against his. He shifted his weight and offered his cell phone to her. She hesitated, her eyes searching his face.

"Here's my cell. I want you to call the little Missus and inform her what's happened. She left him today, so don't give her too many details. Just let her know he's been hurt, and the credit cards were stolen, so I'm taking the initiative to close down the accounts. Tell the creditors the hospital will fax them whatever information they need regarding Dr Wilson's condition."

"House, you should sit down," Cuddy interrupted. She reached out to touch his arm, he jerked away from her instinctively.

"I don't want to sit down," House looked over his shoulder at her. "Stop acting like my mother. Dr Cameron, why are you still here?"

The surgeon escorted him to the recovery room. House nodded, and the doctor pushed the door open for him. He went in, eyes focused straight ahead, mind focused on each step, sure he would stumble if he broke that focus.

For once he was grateful for his cane, it helped him stay upright when his whole body wanted to surrender to the pull of gravity. James Wilson was barely recognizable – body laid out in the bed like a corpse, tubes and wires jutting out all over the place. He looked like some b-movie alien.

"Damn it, Jimmy," House muttered and lifted his cane just enough to bring it back down harshly on the tile floor.

"Here's a chair for you, Dr House," the nurse rolled her executive chair up to the foot of Wilson's bed. "I thought it might be better for you…" House thanked her with a nod and dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

He moved the chair to the side of the bed and eased himself into it slowly. Once he was settled, he reached for Wilson's hand, careful not to disturb the pulse ox. Thankfully the IV was connected to a port on the other side.

"God, I feel old. That's your fault, you know. I've probably aged ten years in the last hour or so." House bent his head to rest against his hand. "I'm so sorry, James. I wish this hadn't happened. But you're gonna be okay, you hear me?"

House lapsed into a reflective silence, his thumb gently rubbing the back of Wilson's hand. He remembered how they'd met –luck of the draw college roommates- they'd started out as rivals because House was a slob and Wilson liked everything to be in its place.

Over time, they learned to compensate each other for the differences between them. Wilson did House's laundry, House helped Wilson with his math assignments. They played tennis together, they rooted for the same baseball, basketball, and football teams. Wilson was there to support House when he played Lacrosse, House never missed one of Wilson's theatre performances.

They were roommates throughout college and med school, even the beginning of their residencies at separate hospitals. House was best man at Wilson's first wedding. Neither of them ever spoke of it, but House knew Amy left because of him, because in the weeks and months after his infarction, Wilson devoted all of his free time and energy to House, effectively neglecting his marriage.

Wilson stayed with House then, roommates again for a while. Until Wilson started seeing Meg. It got serious pretty quick, and even though House didn't care for Meg, he never said a word. He had the feeling from the moment they met that Meg pitied him and thought him weak because of his leg. Because of the limitations of his leg. He only reinforced that by having a major muscle spasm the morning of their wedding, which forced him to stay in bed.

The marriage didn't last two full years. He caught her cheating, he retaliated with his own affair. Eventually, Meg left him for someone else. House felt bad for Wilson, but secretly thought it was for the best.

Then there was Julie. The current Mrs James Wilson. Or maybe it was safe to say former now. House avoided Julie as much as possible. Like Amy and Meg, she was jealous of her husband's relationship with House, because House knew James on a level his wives never could.

By the same token, Wilson knew House in ways no one else ever could. It was a friendship, but it was more than that. It was soul-deep, and intangible.

"Don't do this, Jimmy," House said out loud. His voice held a tremor, the promise of tears. "Don't you check out on me. You're all I've got. If you…I'm nothing…" He stopped, took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

"Two weeks ago, you told me you only had two things –your job and this lousy friendship. The job doesn't matter, James. But the other thing…" Whatever else he might have said was lost to tears.


	6. Getting Settled

Title: Vacant Lives 6?  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: House and Cuddy talk, House goes to Wilson's room  
Notes: 1300 words. Co written with my mom. Yes. My mother. She's cool. She's also my beta.   
Feedback: PLEASE!

He paced a small area of the hallway, carefully pacing his steps to make his cane thump rhythmically on the tile floor. Cameron had gone on her mission to find Wilson's credit card and other important information, and Foreman had been sent to House's place to get him several changes of clothes. As far as House knew, no one had called Chase which was fine with him. Only Cuddy was there, leaning against a wall with one foot propped up behind her.

They hadn't spoken since Cuddy asked him how Wilson was doing. "Stable enough they're putting him in a room," House had answered, and left it at that. Cuddy had put her hand on his arm, he'd jerked away and started pacing. Step thump, step thump, step thump.

"I wish you'd sit down," Cuddy suggested.

House deliberately stabbed the floor with his cane. "I don't want to sit down," he growled, turning to face his boss. His entire body ached, he was afraid if he sat now, he wouldn't get up again without swallowing a Vicodin, or five.

"I know. But…You should. You're limping more than usual. It doesn't take a genius to see your leg is bothering you. Come here, let me have a look at it," Cuddy offered.

"My leg always bothers me. I'm not sitting down," House insisted. Cuddy sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. House sighed, exaggerated and mocking her. "Why haven't they come back yet?" He glanced down the hallway.

"You know it takes a while to get a patient settled."

"James is not just a patient, Dr Cuddy."

"You don't have to tell me that, Dr House," Cuddy shot back, her tone a strong and unwavering as his. "You should know, I talked to Dr Hicks while you were with James in recovery."

House gave her a look that said he knew that. "What did he say?"

"House, you really should sit down."

"That's what Dr Hicks said? I'm not his patient."

Cuddy sighed, annoyed now. "Sit down, House."

If looks could kill, the intensity of his steel blue gaze would have taken her down. After a moment, he eased into a nearby chair, hissing as his thigh muscles contracted.

"They're concerned," Cuddy said sitting next to him, turned sideways to face him, "about the swelling around his spinal chord."

His eyes darkened, his mouth tightened. He thrust his cane across the floor so it clanked and clattered and finally came to rest against the far wall. His hands went to his ruined leg, fingers curling into thigh.

He stared at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was low. "He is not going to lose his legs. Don't you dare tell me he's going to lose his legs." The words carried a thread of a threat.

"It's too early to tell, House. But…you should know it's a possibility. You know Dr Hicks is the best in the area. He did the best he could. No one wants to see James in this position, but there is a possibility."

He surged to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg and into his back.

Cuddy moved to retrieve his cane, mostly to give him some privacy as he struggle with his balance. She smoothed the front of her blouse as she stepped closer to him again, hand outstretched to offer the cane. He knocked it out of her hand and held her gaze as it clattered against the floor.

The moment lasted only a moment before footsteps echoed in the otherwise abandoned hallway and both of them turned expectantly. Dr Hicks was a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair and soft brown eyes.

"Dr Cuddy, Dr House," Dr Hicks greeted them both. Without his cane, House had nothing to brace himself against. "Dr Wilson is settled. Normally I'd suggest the family could see the patient, two at a time for no more than five minutes. Dr Wilson is a unique case, Dr House, and I will not object to your presence in his room, so long as you allow my staff to do their job."

House nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Dr Hicks. How is he?"

"Stable, that's the best we can hope for right now. The next few hours, as you know, are critical. My nurses will be in and out, checking on him regularly."

"Can I see him now?"

"Yes, of course." Dr Hicks picked up House's cane without comment. House accepted it with a quivering smile, and fell into step beside Dr Hicks, with Cuddy a few steps behind them. "I was telling Dr Cuddy a few minutes ago, there is concern about swelling near his spinal chord. It's far too soon to say what the extent of the damage will be."

"What about his leg?"

"Clean wound. I don't expect any complications once it heals."

House nodded. "And his hand?"

"Looks like he got in a few decent punches, unfortunately not enough to do any real damage."

"No, he was upset before we left. He did that at home, punching the wall."

Dr Hicks stopped walking. House went a step forward, but stopped and pivoted back around to face him. "What's wrong?"

"His fingers were broken. Are broken. From the angle of the break, it appears they were bent backward until they snapped."

House slid the door to Wilson's room open, grateful Dr Hicks and Cuddy had headed the other way, allowing him to go in alone. He stood in the open doorway for a long moment, weight unevenly distributed to his left leg and his cane.

A nurse seeped up beside him, a hand on his arm. "Dr House, do you need anything?"

He didn't spare her a glance, his eyes focused on the figure of the man in the bed. "Leave."

"If you…"

"Go now!" he barked impatiently, and she slipped away.

House moved into the room, suddenly aware o how public it was. He quickly turned the blinds, shutting out the world beyond the glass walls. He ran a hand through his hair as he reached the side of Wilson's bed.

"This isn't right, Jimmy. This is all wrong," he murmured, his left hand reaching up to feather his fingers through Wilson's hair. "Why don't you just wake up and tell me this is all just a big mistake. A joke gone too far. Anything, Jimmy. I'd take anything."

House hung his cane on the end of the bed, and pulled the sheets free of the corners. He flipped the covers back, exposing James' feet. Carefully balanced with the bulk of his weight on his left side, House took hold of an ankle, lifted the foot off the bed. Using his knuckles, he checked for any involuntary reflex, but there was none. He repeated with the other foot before emitting a string of curses.

He jerked the sheets back into place, then dropped into the nearest chair. It had arm rests, which gave him leverage for surging back to his feet. Adrenalin pushed him forward, and he braced his hands on the bed, leaning close to Wilson's ear.

"You better be fighting in there, James. 'Cause you're not going to do this to me. You do not want to be a cripple, take my word for it." House stroked the hair from James' forehead. "You're the caretaker, you hate being on the other side, so you need to wake up and get back to work. Do you hear me, Jimmy?"

A spasm passed through his leg, worse than anything he'd experienced since finding Wilson on the bathroom floor. He knew he wasn't due for another dose yet, but he fished his vicodin out of his pocket and dry swallowed a pill before sinking back into the chair.


	7. First Morning Light

Title: Vacant Lives 7?  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: House and Cuddy talk, House goes to Wilson's room  
Notes: 1750 words. Co written with my mom. Yes. My mother. She's cool. She's also my beta.   
Feedback: PLEASE!

It was after three o'clock am when House finally settled in the chair. He dragged it close to the bed, allowing him to prop his feet up and stretch out his right leg. He knew it would hurt like hell when he tried to get up, and swallowed two Vicodin to try and fight off some of the stiffness.

He also hoped the double dose would help him get at least a little sleep.

In dreams, he reconstructed the bathroom fight. He imagined Wilson walking in to the bathroom, making an innocent comment that got taken out of context. Somebody threw a punch, pulled a knife. Wilson probably didn't have time to think, much less defend himself.

He woke suddenly, sweating. The jarring movement sent shocks of pain up his leg. He bit his lip to fight back a whimper.

"Dr House?" The voice startled him. He hadn't realized the nurse was in the room. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he snapped. He decided against further comment, since she was changing the IV bag attached to Wilson's arm. "What time is it?" He tugged on his right pant leg to move his foot to the floor, and again bit back a hiss of pain.

Nurse Maggie looked at the watch strapped to her arm. "Nearly five o'clock."

So he'd slept more than an hour. Close to an hour and a half. He could live with that. "How's the patient?"

"As well as we would expect. His stats look good. Dr. Hicks will be in around nine to check on him. Do you need anything?"

House rubbed his hand over his face. Now that his feet were on the floor, and even with the extra Vicodin in him, he wasn't too keen on the thought of getting up. Certainly not with someone else in the room. "I'm fine."

"All right. You know how to find me if you change your mind."

House nodded. He watched her walk away, and once the door closed behind her, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair. He sucked in his breath, held it, and pulled himself up, relying on his upper arm strength to get him on his feet.

He doubled over, both hands pressed against his thigh to counter the pain deep within the muscles. He figured he must have jarred something when he slipped n the bathroom. No point in dwelling on it, he knew all too well there was nothing to be done for it, except possibly surgery, and even that was iffy, and he wasn't about to submit to being laid up until Wilson was better.

He stood at the side of Wilson's bed, his left leg locked so that it took most of his weight while he looked Wilson over. He started at the top, laying hands on him, touching every inch of him. When he reached his right hand, he lifted it gently off the mattress. Dr Hicks had splinted each of his fingers, and wrapped the wrist in a cast that reached nearly to the elbow.

"Why, James? Why did they break your hand too?" He murmured, looking at Wilson's face, willing him to open his eyes and give an answer.

House continued his exam, eyes and hands drifting over Wilson's body.

He'd attempted a few stretching exercises on his leg in the small open space at the foot of Wilson's bed. The effect seemed to be a tightening of the muscles rather than loosening. He'd stopped after three repetitions, and had been sitting in the window ever since. The ledge wasn't made for sitting, but allowed him enough room to rest somewhat comfortably with both feet on the floor. He didn't dare sit in the chair again, not until after Dr Hicks came in.

He turned the television on just after 6:00 and watched the news. The sports report was on when the door opened, and drew House's attention away form the latest scores.

"Did you sleep at all?" Cuddy asked him. "I brought you something to eat." She set a stryrofoam take out box on the bed tray.

"Yes, Mommy. Between three and five."

"How many pills did you take?"

House pushed off the wall to his feet, careful not to show any sign of pain. He didn't need Cuddy hounding him about getting an X-ray or anything. "Only two."

"Which is two more than you should have had."

House shrugged, and felt a surge of panic. He'd have to ask Cuddy to write him a script for a refill, since Wilson wasn't exactly in a position to do it.

Cuddy sighed and reached into her pocket. "I shouldn't do this, and doing it in no way means I approve of how much you're consuming, but I thought I'd save us both a hassle and just give it to you." She set a small bottle beside the food.

House rubbed his chin. "Thank you." It was sincere, he was grateful. He had six left in his pocket. More in his office and at home. Slightly out of his reach at the moment.

Cuddy shifted her attention to Wilson. "Looks like he's holding steady."

"He's a fighter."

She nodded, took Wilson's unbroken hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm going to give your team a few days off. You're in no condition to work, and I know you're not going to leave his side for a few days anyway."

"Yeah. Any chance I could sweet talk you to bring me my iPod?""

"Dr House?" Dr Allison Cameron stuck her head in the door. He was standing at the foot of Wilson's bed with the sheet pulled away from his feet. He flipped the sheet back down and turned to face the door.

"If it isn't Dr Cameron, my own ray of sunshine," he quipped, and retrieved his cane from the footboard. He wasn't thrilled to see Foreman shuffle in the door behind her. Except Foreman carried a pile of clothes and had House's bag slung on his shoulder. He set the clothes in the chair and eased the bag to the floor beside it. "And Dr Foreman, my own dresser for hire."

Foreman shrugged. "I thought you might want your bag too."

"How thoughtful," House nodded toward the bag. He could have used that around two o'clock last night. Or at five when the nurse woke him and he couldn't get back to sleep.

"Kind of ironic you look more like a doctor when you're not working."

House glared at him, and bit back a sarcastic comment. He wasn't in the mood. "One more thing. I need something to read. Dickens. Wilson hates Dickens. Get me some Dickens."

Foreman knew not to question House's command, and only nodded. "How's he doing?"

House glanced over his shoulder. "No change since they brought him down here." Cameron started toward the bed, House moved to block her way. "His stats are strong and steady, he's doing fine."

Cameron stepped back. "That's good."

"Did you call Julie?" House asked her, relaxing his posture a bit since she stepped back.

"I tried. She didn't answer. But she probably turned the phone off at night. I'll try again in a little while." She held out a single sheet of paper, folded length wise in thirds. He didn't need to read it to know it was the letter Julie left for James. He took it and folded it in half before stuffing it in his pocket.

House jerked his head toward the door. He was feeling over crowded, boxed in. He needed space. Air. "Thank you both. You can go now." Not like he wasn't known for being abrupt.

"Dr Hicks is due in around nine. I'll ask him to write a statement you can fax to the credit card companies. Be sure to tell them Julie may have used the cards, I don't know if she would or not. But since she doesn't know what happened…"

Cameron put a hand on his arm. "I'll take care of it, Dr House. Cuddy already wrote the statement," Cameron said softly.

House nodded. He was glad Cameron seemed to have that under control. He was in no mood to deal with creditors.

Once they were gone, House resumed his obsessive checking of Wilson's vitals. He checked each bandage, each tube, including the output from the catheter. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he once again flipped back the end of the blankets and checked for spontaneous reflexes.

Nothing.

House sighed and lifted Wilson's right leg to his shoulder, gently massaging the calf and thigh muscles. He'd just started a series of bends when a nurse stepped in to the room. "Dr House?"

House carefully lowered Wilson's leg to the bed. "Do me a favor, Molly. Make sure no one comes in here that doesn't have a valid reason."

"There's a police officer here to see you. He said he talked to you last night at the bar."

House nodded, hobbled to the other side of the bed without the cane. "I can't leave. Send him in."

Molly nodded, and headed for the door. House raised Wilson's left leg, carefully countering his own weight on his left side. A moment later, a uniformed officer stepped inside. "Dr house."

"Officer McGinney."

McGinney inclined his head toward Wilson. "How's he doing?"

"Holding his own. I hope you're here to tell me you got the men who did this to him."

"Not yet. We've got a couple leads, but no one wants to talk."

House sighed, rubbed his hand over his face. "Typical. It's the uniform. Scares the guilty. What can I do for you then?"

"We found this in the bathroom at the bar. Thought it probably belongs to the doctor." McGinney held out a plastic bag. House squinted to see what it was. A small gold disc.

House gently lowered Wilson's leg. McGinney handed him the bag. He opened it, removed the gold disc, caressing it with his thumb. One side bore the American Medical Association emblem, the other carried a personalized message. 'James, Congratulations. You're a real doctor now. Greg.' He'd given it to Wilson years ago, when he'd passed his Boards.

"Yeah. It's…" He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "It's his. Thanks for bringing it over."

"No problem. We'll be in touch." McGinney stepped out, leaving House alone once again. He tucked the blanket around Wilson's legs and stood at the window looking out.


	8. Another Long Day

Title: Vacant Lives 8?  
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)  
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.  
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language  
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really  
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way  
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully  
Summary: It's another long day at PPTH  
Notes: 1600 words. Co written with my mom. Yes. My mother. She's cool. She's also my beta.  
Feedback: PLEASE!

The day passed with agonizing slowness.

House was grateful Cuddy sent the yellow chair from his office to him in Wilson's room. The chair had been made for him, to minimize the strain on his bad leg when he sat and when he stood. It was also padded, and afar more comfortable than the standard chairs in a patient room.

He played his GameBoy for a while, until his lack of real focus and concentration pissed him off and he threw the game across the room. He didn't even care if it shattered.

The line up of morning television didn't thrill him either, and he turned the TV off around 11. His iPod had been delivered along with the chair, he let it play classical music while he stared out the window.

Nurses were in and out all morning. House ignored them, they ignored him.

Cuddy showed up with lunch around noon. His breakfast sat untouched. Without comment she threw it away, leaving a salad and sandwich in its place. "I expect you to eat this."

"Yes, Mommy." He took his Vicodin out of his pocket, shook one into his hand. He could feel Cuddy's eyes on him as he swallowed it. He stared back at her, almost challenging her to say something.

She only shook her head and shifted her attention to the patient. His stats showed a slight improvement, and his condition had been upgraded to stable. Cuddy didn't say anything, but took his left hand in hers. His fingers were curled, she pried them open to find a small gold disc.

"What's this?"

House pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against. "I gave it to him."

Cuddy read the inscription. "That's obvious."

"The cop, McGinney, he brought it over a few hours ago."

She nodded and placed it again in Wilson's hand. She leaned over and murmured something in Wilson's ear. House wasn't close enough to hear.

The door slid open, pulling House's attention away from Cuddy and Wilson. Foreman bounded in with a stack of books, which he deposited on the window sill. Cameron followed, her arms full of flowers.

Foreman picked up the GameBoy, set it on he tray beside Wilson's bed.

"They're from the Oncology Department," Cameron announced.

House rubbed his hand over his face. At least no one from Wilson's staff had tried to see him. At least as far as House knew, they hadn't tried to get in the room. Cuddy might have steered them away, or knowing House was in the room would probably be a good enough incentive. House wanted to spare Wilson as much gawking as he could, he knew all too well how degrading it was, how vulnerable it made a person feel. The fact James was unconscious was irrelevant.

"Take them away."

"What?" Cameron protested. Foreman glanced from house to Cameron and back again.

"He's not dead. Take them away."

"Patient rooms are supposed –" Cameron started.

"Take the god damn flowers out of here," House interrupted.

Cameron nodded. Foreman slid an arm around her to guide her to the door. House dropped back against the wall. He really wanted to sit down, but didn't want Cuddy to see him struggle, to hear him hold his breath and fight the pain.

"Dr Hicks has Wilson scheduled for a few tests this afternoon," Cuddy said softly. Delicately. She was walking on dangerous territory, the ice was extremely thin under her feet. "You won't be allowed to stay with him. I want you to go down and see Lara in PT."

He could have slid down the wall to the floor right then and there, if it wouldn't had completely tore his leg to shreds to bend it that way. "No."

While his team prepared Wilson for transfer, Dr Hicks spoke to Dr House. "You can barely walk, Greg."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. You'll be in the way, and-"

"I won't," House insisted. But he knew he was being unreasonable.

Dr Hicks put a hand on his arm. "Listen to me, Greg. I care about James as much as anyone. And, yes, it's difficult to work on a colleague. But he is in good hands. He's in my hands. I'll do what I have to do and bring him right back. You stay here and get some rest. I'll page you if anything goes wrong, but nothing will."

House nodded. What else could he do. He knew he would only be in the way if he went down with Wilson. Even if he stayed out of the way, he'd be in the way just because he was there.

"Give me a minute." House hobbled to the side of the bed. His fingers reached out to Wilson's cheek, down his arm. "You're doing great, James. Keep it up. Don't let me down." He took the disc from Wilson's hand and slipped it into his pocket.

As soon as Wilson was gone, House eased himself into the yellow chair and downed another Vicodin even though he wasn't due for at least two hours. The pills weren't helping very much, but he was afraid to go without and let the pain get really bad. It was all he could do to keep functioning as it was.

He forced himself to stay perfectly still when the door slid open. Maybe if she thought he was asleep, she'd leave him alone. He needed sleep as much as he needed therapy. Maybe more.

"Dr House?" Cameron. Not Cuddy. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. He cracked one eye open when she said his name a second time. "Dr Cuddy thought I'd find you here."

"Did she send you to try to pistol whip me into going downstairs?"

"She said that's where you're supposed to be."

House sat up a bit, as much as he could without risking too much pain. He did not want to give Cameron a show. "What do you want, Dr Cameron?"

"I've taken care of all his credit cards, but I still haven't gotten in touch with his wife."

"Ex wife," House growled. "Are you using my cell? She's probably not answering because it's my number that keeps coming up. She thinks I want to bitch her out because she left. Keep trying."

"What do you mean it's denied?" Julie Wilson stared at the cashier.

"I'm not sure, Ma'am. You'll have to speak with someone in customer service."

"I don't have time for this crap. I have an important meeting in ten minutes." Julie extracted another card from her wallet.

Denied.

The next and the next were denied. "Son of a bitch! I'm going to kill him!" Julie roared, leaving her purchases there, she stormed out of the store. She would deal with James later. After she met with the divorce lawyer.

Kent Lubine was a good looking man. Mid to late thirties, Julie assumed. He had dark hair ad bright blue eyes. He was tall and lean, looked like he played tennis. Julie could just imagine him on a court, all hot and sweaty…

"I need you to sign here, and here," Kent pointed out high lighted sections of a very legal document. "Initial these boxes."

Julie shifted the paper and had drawn only the J of her name when her purse started ringing. "Excuse me." She opened her bag, pulled the cell phone out. Seeing the number displayed, she hit the button on the side that silenced it.

Ken nodded and Julie resumed signing all the designated spots. She set her pen on the mahogany table just as her phone rang again. She silenced it and smiled sheepishly at Ken. "It's not important."

"If you say so."

"It's my husband's best friend." Julie sighed. "My ex-husband," she added quickly. "Greg has been calling me since I left, he called in the middle of the night. Probably about the time James passed out because I'm quite sure they spent the night drinking and wallowing in their misery. He just wants to bitch at me for leaving James and breaking his heart."

Ken nodded. "I'm sure he has your husband's best interest at heart."

Julie stood. "He should be happy I left. Now he can have James all to himself." She smoothed down the front of her silk blouse. "Now, if we're done here, I have some things I need to take care of."

Only one nurse remained, standing near Wilson's bed.. "I've got it, Ginny" House told her.

She looked at him, a protest on her lips. She blinked under the intensity of his gaze and stepped back. "Of course, Dr. House." He continued to stare, and she moved toward the door. "If you…"

"Thank you."

House watched her leave the room, then went about checking Wilson's tubes and wires. Making sure everything was in place, attached where it needed to be, and working properly. He adjusted the Foley and checked the output.

"Okay, Jimmy," he settled in his yellow chair with one of the books Foreman had brought. "It's your lucky day. Foreman brought me a stack of books to help pass the time. You're going to love this one. Dickens. Great Expectations. Might be something in that, don't you think? He could have brought anything, but he brought Great Expectations, and that's what I have for you. And, as I recall, you hate Dickens. Maybe hate is too strong, but I know you don't like his style. That's why…Whatever. You're a captive audience, so if you don't want to listen you're going to have to wake up and tell me now."


	9. The Day Just Keeps Getting Longer

He'd spent the better part of the night stretched out in his yellow  
chair with the TV on mute, flickering above his head while he read out  
loud from Dickens' Great Expectations. He glanced at Wilson at every  
natural break, hoping for some reaction. Some sign that his friend was  
still fighting within his shattered body.

He knew he'd regret getting up, the shift in pressure, the change in  
blood flow. He'd consumed far too many Vicodin, and not a bite of  
food. He pressed his left hand to his rebelling stomach as he sat up.  
His right leg balked, forcing him to tug on the pant leg to force his  
foot to the floor.

He doubled over, pain radiating from both his leg and his stomach. His  
eyes scanned the room frantically, finding the trash can slightly  
beyond his reach. He held his breath, fighting the nausea, eyes  
squeezed shut.

Bile rose in his throat, he swallowed it down. He did not want to puke  
on the floor and have to call a nurse to clean it up. There'd be no  
way in hell he could get down on the floor and clean it up himself.

The spasms in his leg dropped off, he chanced standing up. He kept his  
back curved, left hand pressed to his stomach, right hand on his angry  
thigh. He needed his cane, but there wasn't time. He needed the toilet  
more.

He barely made it, hands gripping the cold porcelain as his stomach  
rebelled. For a long moment, he didn't dare move for fear his right  
leg would completely give out on him.

"Dr House?"

"I'm fine, Maggie," He pulled his head up. He wasn't fine. He was far  
from fine. He took a deep breath, flushed, moved carefully, quickly  
shifting his hands from the toilet to the sink for much needed  
support.

He could hear Maggie moving around in the room, no doubt checking  
Wilson's stats. "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

He closed his eyes, swayed against the sink. Honestly, he wasn't sure  
he wouldn't hit the floor as soon as he let go. "I'm fine." He grit  
his teeth, and his mind flashed on the first steps he'd taken after  
his infarction. Balanced between parallel bars, letting go, weight  
bearing down on his dead leg…

He grabbed the door handle, but the hinges made it too unstable to  
support him. With a grunt, he heaved himself forward. His chair seemed  
so far away. Too far. He wasn't going to make it. He could feel his  
leg buckling, thigh pulsing.

Pain gripped him, a vise on his leg. "Dr House!" Maggie yelped, rushed  
to his side. The ruined muscles in his thigh spasmed painfully,  
pressing against the tight wall of skin.

Sweat dotted his forehead, stained the arms of his shirt. Maggie slid  
under his right arm and helped him to his chair. He needed to lie  
down. The chair was the best he could do.

"Can I get you anything?" Maggie carefully raised his right leg and  
set it on the ottoman.

"A bottle of whisky?" He pressed both hands to his thigh, fingers  
rubbing against the dead tissue.

"I don't think so. How 'bout some water?"

House nodded. "Yeah. Lots of ice."

He worked methodically, so focused on his task that he no longer felt the pain in his leg, the nausea bubbling in his stomach. He was only vaguely aware of the bedrail biting into his hip - he didn't care about his own comfort at all.

He lifted Wilson's left leg, carefully but deliberately, sensitive to the slightest resistance. He hummed along with the classical music playing on his iPod, fingers occasionally playing out a scale and melody on Wilson's skin.

His eyes darted up briefly as the door slid open. Seeing it was only Lisa Cuddy, he didn't lose his concentration.

"We have people trained to do that," Cuddy set a Styrofoam box on the tray beside Wilson's bed.

"Tell the nurse I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Cuddy tossed the box from earlier into the trash can without comment.

House checked the output from Wilson's Foley then flipped the blanket back into place over Wilson's legs but didn't tuck the corners. He stood, both hands braced on the bedrail, hoping Cuddy wouldn't notice just how tight his grip was. "His bath."

Cuddy shook her head. House was afraid for a moment that she'd come around to his side of the bed and put her hand on him. "You can't do this by yourself. You're exhausted, house. You can barely move. You're not-"

He extracted one hand from the bedrail, groped for his cane which hung on the end of the bed. He stabbed the floor with it, eyes dark and challenging. "You want me to step aside and let some inept idiot from PT come in here and do half a job..."

"That's not - You're not trained..."

Left hand still gripping the bedrail, he held his cane up, jerked it angrily toward his boss. "Not professionally, no. I have experience. Or did you forget that?" 

Cuddy sighed. She couldn't fight that topic. And she really didn't want to go there. She pushed a hand through her hair, and House closed his eyes, allowing the tension of the moment to pass quietly.

"I brought lunch. You should-"

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat." Cuddy thumbed the box open. A sandwich, chips, no pickle. At least she remembered to hold the pickle. He sneered at it, Cuddy sneered at him. He sighed, hooked his cane on the end of the bed again, and picked up the sandwich, left hand maintaining its grip on the bedrail.

He sniffed the sandwich. Roast beef and cheese. Iron and protein. He sneered again before taking a small bite.

"How's your leg?" Her eyes flickered to his hand on the bedrail.

"Fine," he answered, mouth full of sandwich.

"I'm actually more concerned about your hip."

"Funny, I'm more concerned about James," House answered coolly. "If I promise to eat the damn sandwich, will you tell Maggie I'm ready for her?"

Leaving Chase and Foreman to their indepth discussion of baseball in the conference room, Cameron took her mountain of paperwork and relocated to the quiet sanctuary of House's office. She could see them through the glass walls, could hear their excited chatter as their voices raised above normal conversation tones, but for the most part she could tune them out.

For a man who did little actual doctor-to-patient work, Dr Gregory House amassed a great deal of paperwork. Cameron had been at it five minutes, maybe ten, when the main door opened and a very beautiful woman stepped into House's office. She work a sleek navy blue pant suit which looked like it might have cost more than Cameron's entire wardrobe.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Dr House," the woman announced, her voice smooth as honey and well matched to her suit.

Former patient? Wife of a patient? Daughter? Mistress? The possibilities rolled around Cameron's mind. She didn't dare look toward the conference room. "Dr House is with a patient," she explained, though the words and the concept were foreign to her. 

"I really must speak with him at once." The woman insisted.

Cameron stood because it seemed like the thing to do. "I'm sorry, he has asked not to be disturbed. You're welcome to wait here, and I'll give him a message."

The elegant woman rolled her eyes with irritation. Cameron assumed she didn't like to be dismissed, but there wasn't much she could do. No way in hell she was going to go bother House now.

"My name is Julie Wilson."

"You're..." Cameron blinked. "You're Wilson's wife."

"Yes. Now do you think you could run along and tell Dr House I'd like to speak with him?"

Cameron nodded. "I'm sure he'll make an exception." She shot a glance through the glass walls to the conference room. Chase and Foreman looked like randy schoolboys inappropriately lusting after the new teacher.

Should she tell Mrs Wilson about her husband? She'd seen James. She knew it wasn't looking good for him. She also knew how it felt to lose a husband, but she didn't think Julie would feel even an ounce of what she had felt for her husband.

"Mrs Wilson, there's something you should know." Cameron stepped to the front side of House's desk. "The patient...It's James. He was stabbed two nights ago. That's why Dr House has been trying to get in touch with you."

"What?" Julie balked. She stepped back, colliding with a chair. She dropped into it. "How is he?"

"Stable. House has been with him since it happened. And Dr Hicks is a really good doctor."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure he is." Julie straightened her posture, ran a hand over her hair as if to make sure every strand was in place. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Dr House."

"Of course. Follow me." 

House was nearly asleep when the door slid open, moaning on the track. He shot up, pain gripping his damaged thigh. He bit back a cry, and grabbed his damaged leg with both hands. Sweat beaded his forehead, and for several seconds he cold only rock back and forth to ride out the vise grip deep within.

Cameron knelt in front of him, hands on his knees to try to steady him, eyes raking over him, helplessness surging through her veins. "Dr House, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," she said after a moment, as he settled down.

He blinked repeatedly, his hands rubbed at his thigh. "What is it, Cameron?" he asked through clenched teeth as soon as he could force the sound past his throat.

"Julie Wilson is here to see you."

His eyes darted to the door, and back to Cameron. "Shit." He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths. Cameron got to her feet and moved to the side of Wilson's bed, keeping her back to House to give him some dignity. A string of frustrated curses brought her back around to face him.

He gripped the arms of his chair, a determined look on his face. Sweat beaded his forehead, and in all truth, he looked defeated. "Let me help you," Cameron offered and moved to his right side.

"I don't need any god damned help," House insisted and jerked his arm at her. "Go tell Julie I'll be right out."

"If you're..."

"I'm sure. Now go!"

Cameron lingered a moment, but the intensity of his gaze convinced her he would not allow her to help him no matter what. She turned and stepped out of the room.

He scooted to the edge of his seat, leaned forward to grab the bedrail. Hopefully he wouldn't jar Wilson too much, but he had no choice. Feet planted firmly on the floor, he took a deep breath and heaved himself up.

His leg screamed, he tasted blood in his mouth where his teeth sliced into his cheek. He was on his feet, but unable to move while his leg spasmed. He took several deep breaths before reaching for his cane.

The first step was tentative, reminding him of a clumsy child just learning to walk. His hand gripped his cane far too tightly, but he had no choice. His leg couldn't take his weight, he had to redirect it to his arm.

"Hello, Julie." She was impeccably dressed, as usual, giving the world the impression of a perfect socialite wife, though House knew the truth.

"Greg," she answered, eyes taking him in. He set his left hand on his cane, leaning forward slightly. "How is he?"

"What is this? Wifely concern? A little late for that, don't you think?" House glanced at Cameron. "Why are you still here? Go sit with him. I won't be long." He shifted his attention back to Julie.

"I want to see him."

"No."

"You can't...I'm his wife."

House blinked at her. "Is that why you left a note for him to find? For God's sake, Julie. You took his dog. What kind of woman takes a man's dog?"

"He's got you."

House almost laughed. He probably would have laughed if he hadn't felt so close to the edge. One false move and he knew he'd be on the floor looking up at her. "Touche," he said simply.

"Move out of the way, Greg."

Whatever reserve of energy he had kicked in. He straightened himself, effectively blocking the doorway. "No."

She glared at him for a long moment. He felt himself drifting. He closed his eyes. He wanted to just give up. Sink to the floor and forget everything. "Dr Cameron," he called without glancing backward. He kept his eyes locked on Julie.

"Yes, Dr House?" Cameron appeared behind him.

"Will you please escort Mrs Wilson away. Take her to the cafeteria. Take her to Cuddy so she can lodge a complaint. Take her anywhere but take her away from here."

"This isn't over, Greg," Julie spat.

"I know." He turned, hissing with pain as his right thigh clenched. Cameron stepped back, giving him room. He reached for the bedrail, needing the extra support.

"Dr House?" Cameron started.

Tettering on a very thin balance, House glared at her. "Go, Cameron." He watched, to make sure she didn't linger anymore.

He fell into his chair, leg heavy and uncooperative. He shifted carefully, biting his cheek again, curling his fingers into the chair to fight the screams in his throat.


	10. Deep Into The Night

Lisa Cuddy looked up from her paperwork as a shadow fell across her doorway. It took a moment to register, and when she realized who it was, she forced a smile. "Hello, Julie."

"Dr Cuddy," Julie stepped into the office, head held high as if she meant to impress her husband's boss. "I need to talk to you about Dr House."

Cuddy lay her pen down and closed the file she was working on, leaving the pen trapped inside. "How can I help you?"

"He won't let me in to see James."

"Are you really surprised?" Cuddy stood. Toe to toe, Julie Wilson was a good three inches taller than her. But at least she didn't feel the woman was literally looking down her nose at her.

"James and I have our problems," Julie sighed. "Every relationship does. That doesn't mean-"

"You left him, Julie."

Julie's nostril's flared, reminding Cuddy of an irritated horse. She almost expected her to stomp her feet to complete the image. "He's my husband."

"That note says otherwise."

"It's just a note."

"Is it? I'm willing to bet you've been with your lawyer the better part of the afternoon. Have you signed the papers, Julie?"

"You're not going to let me see him, are you?"

"I'm afraid not. You're welcome to try to get a court order, though no judge will approve it if those papers have been signed."

Julie smoothed the front of her jacket. "I will be back, Dr Cuddy."

"Two days ago, you wrote him off. You're a smart woman, Julie. Why don't you cut your losses and go away? That's what you wanted a few days ago." Cuddy held the door open for Julie's exit.

After Julie had gone, Cuddy couldn't focus on her paperwork. She ended up walking down to House's office. Cameron and Chase were there, Foreman was doing clinic duty in House's place.

"Let me get the door for you, Dr Chase," a nurse rushed ahead of him to slide the door open. Chase thanked her with a nod, and took a deep breath to steel himself for the sneer he knew was coming.

House was in the chair from his office, u Great Expectations /u open in his lap. His eyes fluttered at Chase's arrival, and he muttered something Chase didn't quite catch. Chase set the pizza down on the bedside table, and ran a quick visual check over Wilson and the vitals displayed on his monitors before turning his attention to his boss.

The fact House didn't wake when he came in was more than a little disturbing. "Dr House?"

House jumped, wincing from the sudden movement. He blinked rapidly for a long, tense moment. Chase almost expected the man to fly at him, hands aiming for his neck. "Cuddy send in reinforcements?"

"I brought pizza and beer," Chase announced, gesturing to the box and bag on the table. "Figured you were sick of the hospital food."

House grunted. "Thoughtful."

Chase couldn't help but notice he hadn't moved to sit up. That was definitely not a good sign. "It's supreme. Everything but the kitchen sink." Chase turned his back to House, to give him some dignity, and busied himself pulling pizza out of the box. He set a piece on two plates then popped open two beers.

House hissed, and it took all Chase's strength not to turn to him. He wasn't prepared, really, to see his boss in such obvious pain. He'd seen him wince or grimace when he moved too fast or shifted the wrong way on his leg, but the man as a rule didn't wear his pain outright. He kept it hidden, muted by a cunning sense of humor, a biting sarcasm, and too much Vicodin.

He pulled two cans free of the plastic carrier and popped them open before sitting in a nearby chair. "Does Cuddy know you brought beer up here?" House was sitting up, eyeing Chase suspiciously. Chase couldn't help but notice he looked incredibly pale in the florescent light.

"No. I'm hoping it can be our little secret." Chase grinned and handed House a can and a plate. He tucked the can between his legs before reaching for the plate, taking both with his left hand. His right hand was flat against his thigh.

"What are you up to, Dr Chase?" House questioned before Chase could process what his hand on his thigh like that must mean.

Chase took a bite of pizza, giving himself time to consider his answer. Greg House never missed a trick, even when he was clearly half out of his had with pain. Chase had to be careful, he didn't want to alert House at all.

No way he'd outright agree to letting Chase, or anyone, look at his hip. X-rays were out of the question because that would mean leaving Wilson's room, and as Cuddy described it, House was a mama grizzly vehemently protecting her injured cub.

"I'm not up to anything, Dr House," Chase said coolly, carefully. He didn't want to give House any reason to question him. "Everyone knows you're worried about Dr Wilson. We all are. But you were with him and he's your friend and that's pretty tough. So I thought I'd try to help you out a little, save you from another dose of mystery meat from the cafeteria. Dr Cuddy signed off on the pizza."

"And the beer?" House asked and took a sip.

Chase furrowed his brow for a moment, a fraction of a second before he recovered, thinking House had already asked him about the beer. "It's contraband."

"I've taught you well."

Chase laughed. "You have." So far, so good. Maybe getting House to relax wouldn't take as long as Chase had thought.

House took a small bite of the pizza. Chase noticed his eyes scan the room, as if looking for something. He carefully followed the line of House's vision to see the trash can sitting nearby.

They ate in silence with Chase trying not to be too obvious about watching House. Studying him, was more like it. Chase quickly concluded Wilson regaining consciousness was probably the only thing that would get House out of his char anytime soon.

When House lurched forward, Chase scrambled for the trash can. His beer and plate hit the floor, House's followed with a crash and a swoosh of spilled drink. Chase wasn't fast enough and House puked on him, and everything else. All over his chair, all over himself, all over Chase.

"Shit."

Chase put the trash can in his lap even though it was too late, and got a wet wash cloth from the bathroom. "Thanks," House took the towel and ran it over his face. He puked again, thought it was mostly bile, at least it was deposited in the can.

Chase picked up the pizza from the floor, threw it in the bathroom trash. He tossed a towel on the floor to clean up the beer. "How long has this been going on?"

"All day. I can't…keep anything down."

Chase tossed the soiled towel into a corner in the bathroom. "How much Vicodin are you taking?"

"Two, every couple hours. It's not…not helping."

"When are you going to give up the fight and let someone look at your leg?"

"It's not my leg," House's eyes shifted to Wilson. "I'm not leaving him."

"You need a bath. You stink and you've got vomit in your hair."

"You don't exactly smell like a rose garden either."

Chase almost smiled. At least his sense of humor was intact. "No thanks to you. Should I call a nurse?"

House shook his head, a look of complete dread on his face. "No. Just…just you, Chase."

Chase nodded. He knelt in front of House, untied both shoes and slipped them off his feet, careful not to shift his leg too much. He repeated the process with both socks.

"This really sucks, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Chase hadn't been too happy about being sent to House with the pizza, he'd expected to get reamed up one side and down the other and quite possibly thrown out on his ear. Now he was glad it was him, not Cameron, who had to see their boss this way.

"Stand up?" Chase stood and held out his hand as an offer to help.

House just looked at it, and then, after a moment, his blue eyes flickered up to Chase's face. "I don't think I can, Chase."

"I'm gonna turn the shower on and I'll be right back to help you. You've got clothes, don't you?" He checked the cabinet, grabbed two sets of clean clothes and took them to the bathroom with him.

"Lean on me. Come on. I'm already wearing your guts." Chase stooped down, eased himself under House's right arm. He let House set the pace, giving the man time to get his balance, his strength. "Come on. I've got you."

House uttered a string of curses before he was on his feet. Chase was surprised he didn't even try to right himself, but leaned into Chase's shoulder and allowed Chase to lead him into the bathroom.

"Can you stand on your own?"

"I don't know."

"Hold on to the bar. We've got to get you out of these clothes."

House nodded and offered no resistance. Chase tugged his shirt over his head first, and House had to hold on to his shoulder. The pants were next. House held his breath as Chase started to tug the sweats and House's boxers over his hips.

Chase bit back a gasp at the sight of bruise on House's hip. "Have you gotten a look at this monster?"

"No. It's…I know it's bad."

"Yeah." Chase rocked back on his heels. "Do you want to sit down, or lift your legs?"

"If I sit I'm not getting back up."

Chase nodded. He lifted House's right leg and eased the pants off his foot. He got up on his knees, allowing House to lean on him so he could pull his left leg up. Chase stripped down to his boxers, figuring he wouldn't make an uncomfortable situation even more uncomfortable, and helped House into the shower.


	11. The Most Beautiful People In The World

Chase was half asleep in the chair with his feet propped up on the end of Wilson's bed when Cameron pushed the door open. He'd been in that half awake zone for a while, aware of his neck aching but too comfortable otherwise to do anything about it.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. A glance at his watch told him it was just past seven. House had slept, or at least hadn't made a sound, for nearly eight hours.

"How's he doing?" Cameron nodded at Wilson.

"About the same. Stronger, improving little by little. He should be waking up soon." At least, Chase hoped he would wake up soon. At the rate House was going, he couldn't take much more of this.

Cameron nodded. "And Dr House?" She adjusted the sheet before turning to look at her boss.

Chase looked over at House. He looked so vulnerable sprawled out in his chair like he was. "Better. He doesn't look quite as pained. He let me give him a drip." Chase deliberately left out the bit about adding demoral to ease the pain and help him sleep.

Her eyes widened at that, and sought out the IV line. "You get a look at his hip?"

Chase closed his eyes, remembering the scene from last night. How he'd managed to get a look at House's hip. She didn't need to know about that. "It's bruised, but I think he'll be all right. He's been pushing himself, trying to take care of Wilson. Forgetting to take care of himself."

"That's how he…" Cameron started, but a rustling behind her stopped her mid sentence. House was awake, one eye fixed on them.

"Don't you kids have work to do?" His voice was rough with sleep.

Chase looked at him. "I think we're doing it."

"Right." House used his arms to pull himself up to sitting. Once he was settled, he rubbed his hand over his face, then looked over at Wilson.

"He's improving," Chase said softly before he could ask. House nodded, his eyes shifted to the needle in his arm. Chase looked away, distracted himself by getting to his feet and stretching. "Do you need anything, Dr House?"

House rubbed his chin again. He glanced at Cameron, back to Chase.

Chase nodded. "Dr Cameron, would you go see if you can find Dr House a decent cup of coffee?"

Cameron looked between the two of them, and slowly nodded. "I won't be long."

"Thanks." Chase watched her go. Once she was gone, he moved to House's side and offered his hands to help House get up.

House was adjusting the Foley bag when she went in. For a moment, before he acknowledged her presence, she watched him. Watched how his fingers seemed to glide, how everything about him seemed, for that moment, gentle as a butterfly. Quite a contrast to the harshness he so often displayed to the outside world.

"Is there something you need, Maggie, or are you going to stand there and gawk all day? Because, you should know, there is a strict no gawking rule in this room."

Maggie couldn't help but smile. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"Best I've felt in years." House thrust his arm out, showing off his IV line. "Dr Chase is a miracle worker."

"Mmmm hmmmm." Maggie shook her head at him. "All right. You, move." She jerked her thumb toward the foot of the bed. "And let me do my job. Assuming you haven't done it for me?"

"Would I do that?" House limped to the end of the bed. "Do you think you could get me a razor?" He rubbed his chin, scratched at his neck.

Maggie nodded and stepped up to check on the patient. "I think I can do that."

"Do what?" Cameron chirped, stepping in with the red mug from House's office and an arm full of magazines.

House rolled his eyes at her and accepted the steaming mug gratefully. "Took you long enough."

"I had to brew a fresh pot."

"Worth the wait, then."

"Where's Dr Chase? I thought he'd still be here."

"I think he ran off with one of the nurses." House winked at her. Maggie caught his eye, he winked at her too.

Cameron put the magazines by the window. "I know you probably haven't looked at the other ones I brought, but I saw these in the conference room and thought I'd bring them to you anyway."

"See how well she takes care of me?" House grinned at Maggie.

"You are a very well kept man, Dr House." Maggie answered with a wink to Cameron.

His hand was shaking and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Wilson with any noticeable facial hair. Maybe the week after Meg left. He'd been depressed then, more interested in drinking until he passed out than shaving.

"You should thank Nurse Maggie for bringing me an electric razor, you know. Your face would be a road map if she'd brought me a straight razor and I think it's pretty rude of you not to say anything at all about it." House sighed. In his mind he calculated the time since the attack. "I really wish you would wake up, Jimmy."

He had music playing, and words surrendered to the melody as he hummed along. His leg spasmed and he pulled away from Wilson's face with a gasp and a grunt. He set the razor down and gripped the bedrail with both hands to ride out the pain.

"Dr House?" He looked down at the hand on his arm. How did Cameron get in the room without him knowing? "Sit down. Let me…"

"No. I…I need…"

"You need to sit down."

"I do not…"

"I'll be gentle, I promise. I used to shave Billy, when he couldn't do it himself. Okay?"

He closed his eyes, then nodded and handed her the razor. He was grateful her back was to him as he sank into his chair and pulled his legs up. As soon as he was settled, his hands went to his thigh to try to massage the tension away.

He looked over at Cameron, and was somewhat relieved he couldn't actually see her working. "Now would be a really good time to wake up, Jimmy."

"Jimmy?"

"He hates that. I keep thinking if I piss him off enough, he'll wake up to tell me to shut up."

Cameron nodded. "I'm sure he'll wake up soon."

"I hope so. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Dr House" Cameron turned to face him. "Do you want…" She dropped her eyes and gnawed on her bottom lip. She knew he hated asking for and accepting any kind of help unless he barked the orders himself. Until now, she was pretty sure Dr Wilson was the only one he ever really leaned on.

House rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn't shaved for more than a week, and the resulting beard was driving him crazy. He'd meant to shave himself after he finished with Wilson.

Avoiding eye contact, he nodded.

Cameron moved to the ottoman. He used his left leg to push his right leg over a bit to make room for her to sit.

"Close your eyes and relax." She sat on the edge of the ottoman.

He was surprised at how gentle she was.

"Good night, Dr House," the night nurse patted Wilson's leg as she was leaving.

House gave her a slight smile. "Night Bridget." He watched her go, and sighed when the door slid shut. "With a little luck, we won't have nay more visitors tonight."

He reached for Great Expectations, but saw the stack of magazines Cameron had brought by earlier. The Fifty Most Beautiful issue of People was on top. He grabbed that instead.

"You're gonna love this. Gotta be better than Great Expectations. It's out dated, but who's counting? " He flips the first few pages. "You ever notice how the same 'Beautiful People' show up year after year? I swear, Julia Roberts is in here every year. Aren't there any other beautiful people in Hollywood? They just keep recycling the old ones. Although Jude Law, he's definitely pretty."

House glanced at Wilson. Nothing. He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't suppose we'd ever end up on the list. Do they even do real people? You're pretty enough, but beautiful? Maybe with a little make up. I'd have to give it some thought.

"Oh, this is good. This is really good. A new one this year. That guy from Grey's Anatomy. Patrick Dempsey. Look at this smirk, will ya?" House holds the magazine up to Wilson's closed eyes. "It clearly says, 'I'm not a doctor, but I play one on TV, ergo, I know all there is to know about medicine.' I'd like to see him try to diagnose a patient. Not in this lifetime."

He sighed and flipped past a few pages. He clicked his tongue when a certain article caught his eye. "Now this is real news. Elton John is engaged to his long time partner. It's been a few months, maybe they're married now. I didn't even know he was gay. Did you know he's gay? It's shocking. Scandalous. Completely alters my perception of the man. I'll never be able to listen to his music again.

"You haven't done so well in the marriage department. Julie came by yesterday. I think I scared her off. Maybe when the divorce is final, you should try a same sex marriage. Hey, it could work. You never know. Can't be any worse…"

"House, will you shut the fuck up?"

"Hey, this stuff is important. You never know when you…: The magazine fell to the floor as House surged quickly to his feet ignoring the pain screaming through his leg. His knee spasmed and threatened to collapse, but he steadied himself on the bedrail.

He grabbed for his stethoscope and reached for Wilson's wrist with the other. "I'm glad you finally decided to come out and play. Took you long enough."

"God…What happened?" Wilson closed his eyes.

"You don't remember?"

He tried t shake his head but didn't quite make it. He opened his eyes. "Hurts."

"You hit your head pretty hard." Wilson moaned, but his grip on House's hand was strong. Strong enough House was concerned for the safety of his fingers. "Wilson?"

"I…I can't feel my legs." His wide eyes fixed on House.

Outwardly, house showed no emotion. Inside, he took a deep shuddering breath. He forced himself to look Wilson in the eye. "It's temporary. Nothing to worry about." He reached up with his other hand, awkwardly smoothing Wilson's hair away from his forehead. That one stubborn lock in the middle fell right back down. "Get some rest. We'll talk later."

"You're a lousy liar, Greg."

"I want you alert and functional when we talk about your condition."

"You have an IV line."

House's gaze shifted to the line. "Yeah. I puked all over Chase last night. I've been worried about you. Let myself get dehydrated."

Wilson's eyes closed again, as if the effort of keeping them open was too difficult House tried to pull his hand away. "Don't. Don't leave."

"I'll be right there." Though he knew his leg would strongly object, he used his right foot to pull the ottoman over close enough he could sit.


	12. I Don't Think I Can Put Weight On It

One look was all it took, a moment of eye contact and he was off, running, eyes trained on the ball. He dove in for the grab, caught it and slid in the grass and the mud as a thunderclap of applause and cheers erupted around him.

Just as fast, he found himself on a tennis court, staring down his opponent. Wilson tossed the ball up, served to his back hand. The ball sailed back across the net with ease.

Jogging together, and stopping for coffee afterward. Talking about sports and work, Wilson's latest marriage, House's resistance to take that step with Stacy.

Stacy.

House sat up suddenly, body damp with sweat, leg tightening with the movement. He rocked forward, both hands wrapping around his thigh, breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, tried to relax, knew the spasm would subside quicker if he could just relax.

He was aware of the door sliding open, the harsh shaft of light that glared at him off the tile floor. He closed his eyes, he didn't even care who it was. Nothing he could do about it anyway, with his leg tight and unyielding.

Chase caught the edge of the ottoman and reached in to help. Long fingers digging into taught muscle. House whimpered before he could repress it, and tried to push Chase's hands away. Instead he leaned back against his chair, the bulk of his weight held on his elbows, hands curled in fists of frustration.

Chase hummed, and though at first it irritated him, he found it helped him relax if he concentrated on the tune. Sweat beaded his forehead and dripped down the side of his face. As the pain in his leg subsided, he used his shirt to rub his face dry.

"That's going to be sore for a couple days," Chase said as he moved to the other chair.

"Thank you for that news flash, Dr Einstein." House glanced at Wilson, and since he was asleep, directed his attention to Chase. "Any chance I could convince you to give me something for the pain?"

"How much Vicodin have you swallowed in the last twelve hours?"

"I was actually thinking muscle relaxer."

Chase nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

House nodded. "I have to piss."

"Need help?"

Another nod. "I don't think I can put any weight on it."

"I could get you some crutches."

If looks could kill, the look House shot at him would have taken him down. Chase shrugged it off and stood at House's right, reached down to help him up. It was a struggle, and Chase had to kick the ottoman out of the way.

Once he was upright, House flung his arm around Chase's neck. Chase reached back for the IV pole, and guided it along with them.

"I don't need you to hold my hand for this part," House sneered at him, and Chase eased out from under his arm. He stepped out of the bathroom and kept his back to the door until House whistled for him to come back and help him to his chair again.

The first thing Wilson was aware of was the constant beeping of the heart monitor. He'd forgotten how annoying it could be. Especially in a silent room.

Slowly other things came in to focus. The closed blinds, the dim light above his bed, the IV, the pull of the catheter. That was the worst, and he reached down to adjust the tube.

His eyes drifted to the left, House was asleep in his chair. His legs were propped up on the ottoman, a pillow under is right knee. He was covered with a light blanket, and a book lay at his side. The table beside him was littered with patient files, his Game Boy, and the red mug from his office. Wilson smiled at the image.

His eyes closed, and he became aware of just how much his body hurt. His back ached, he had no idea how long he'd been in bed but judging the stiffness he felt, it had been a few days. He half wondered what happened, and why he was in the hospital, but it seemed so far away. He was more concerned with getting comfortable, and he wanted to turn on his side. His legs refused to cooperate, and a sharp pain traveled up his back. He hissed and swore under his breath.

House was instantly on his feet, his book hit the floor with a bang. He muttered a string of curses to match the frustration Wilson felt. He grabbed hold of the bedrail to steady himself. "You're awake."

"You look like hell," Wilson told him.

"Thanks."

Wilson's eyes drifted shut. Not that he was awake, he just wanted to sleep. Had he been awake before, or was that a dream? He opened his eyes to see House had an IV line. Probably not a dream, since he remembered that.

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days."

Wilson wet his lips. "What happened?"

"What do you –"

"Tell me what happened, Greg." Wilson knew the use of House's first name would say more than words.

House nodded. "We went to a bar. You got mugged. Bastards stabbed you."

"My legs…"

"There's swelling around your spinal chord. Dr Hicks seems to think you'll be fine. It's just a matter of time."

Wilson raised right hand off the bed, looked at it. Somehow the bandages didn't really concern him. With a sigh he let it rest on the bed and raised the left to his face, rubbed his eyes. "Or I could be…"

"Don't. Don't even go there, James."

"But it's possible."

"Yes. It's possible. Just like it was possible the toxins from my leg would kill me. Cuddy told me, you remember Cuddy told me I'd probably never walk again. And look at me now."

Wilson didn't say anything for a long moment. House thought he'd slipped back in to sleep. "What are you reading?" he asked, softly and without opening his eyes.

House looked down at the book on the floor. No way in hell he was leaning over to pick it up. The Demerol in his IV helped the pain, but did nothing for his mobility and he was smart enough not to push it too much.

"Great Expectations. I know you love Dickens, so I've been reading it to you."

Wilson cracked one eye open at that. "Shit. You should be reading Michael Crichton."

"Right."

"One of these days you're going to pick up one of his books, and you'll actually like it." Toward the end, Wilson's words started to slur. "God, I'm tired."

"It's the drugs. Don't fight it. Your body needs sleep."

"I've been sleeping…how long? Three days?"

"No. You've been unconscious. Big difference."

Wilson's answer was silence. House eased himself back into his chair. His leg refused to cooperate, forcing him to pull on his pant leg to get his foot on the ottoman.


	13. Green Jello And Split Pea Soup

He sat by the window watching the rain beat down on the parking lot below. The people getting in and out of their cars amused him, huddling under umbrellas or hurrying across the pavement with something held up over their heads to avoid exposure to the downpour.

If he shifted his eyes just right, he could see the room behind him in the glass. Empty bed, silent television, a woman in the doorway. He didn't react to Dr Lisa Cuddy's presence, except to close his eyes.

He closed his eyes as his mind jumped back in time – suddenly he was the patient, and Dr Cuddy stood next to his bed, adjusting the IV tube that somehow got tangled among the wires from the monitors behind him. "There's extensive damage, Greg. We removed a lot of the dead muscle and tissue. You're going to need intensive physical therapy, and it's too soon to know of you'll ever be able to walk on it." Like he needed her to tell him that. He was the one laying n the bed, dead leg and all.

He jumped at the sudden touch, her hand on his shoulder. He hadn't heard her cross the room, and the sudden jerk when he started caused his leg to tighten up, breath caught in his throat. His hands moved to his thigh, gripping the dead muscle, forcing a breath through his clenched teeth.

Cuddy sat on the window ledge beside him, ready to assist, but unwilling to interfere. She knew House well enough to know he'd shut down on her if she over stepped his bounds. She waited until he relaxed somewhat and leaned back in his chair. His hands were still on his thigh, gently massaging.

"When is Dr Chase planning to remove the IV?"

Blue eyes fixed on her. "When I can eat without sharing the contents of my stomach with him."

"How's that going? Have you had anything to eat today?"

"I'm sure one of my protégé will bring me lunch in a paper sack later today," House answered. He tugged on his pant leg to raise his leg up to the ledge. Cuddy watched the process, then turned away for a moment.

She looked over at the wall. "I want you to go get that X-rayed."

"It's fine."

"No it's not. You're a stubborn bastard, house. And one of these days it's going to cost you."

"It's my leg, Dr Cuddy." He sounded slightly more pathetic than he'd intended. Images of himself, flat on his back, unable to move, flashed through his mind once again. He pressed a hand to his eyes to ward it off.

"I'm well aware of that, Dr House. Can you even walk on it?" House gave her a dull eyed stare. "Right now. If I told you Dr Wilson asked for a file from his office, could you go get it for him?"

"If Wilson wants something from his office, I'll make sure he gets it."

"That wasn't the question."

His eyes drifted shut and he leaned his head back. "I don't know. I really don't. It hurts like hell." He left off the part about needing Chase to help him get up and down, just to go to the bathroom. Left out the part about Dr Hicks threatening to admit him and restrain him if he tried to accompany Wilson for his tests.

"I want you to have it X-rayed so we can see what's going on. And then I want you to talk to Lara in PT. Dr Wilson will be starting a program, if it makes you feel better, you can join him. He's scheduled for the whirlpool tomorrow morning. You could benefit from that too."

House rubbed a hand over his face. Helplessness rose like bile in his throat. He blinked away memories of the past, focused on the present. He didn't look at her, but nodded slightly. His voice was quiet, nearly threatening when he spoke. "Fine. Get me a fucking wheelchair and a bag to put over my head and take me to get an X-ray."

House was half asleep in the chair when Wilson was brought back from his testing. He watched thru slit eyelids until they had Wilson resettled in his bed. "Have you been poked and prodded enough?"

Wilson turned to look at House. "God, yes. Everything seems to look better." He held up his splinted hand. "Took x-rays. It seems to be healing. Funny, I can't remember…."

"You will. You know. it's the body's way of protecting itself. Imagine how much worse you'd feel if you did remember." House rubbed his face. I remember enough for both of us."

"I'm sorry"

"For what? Being an idiot and wanting to go slumming? It really wasn't a place for someone who screamed money. You were ripe for the picking, or so the police say. They trashed my car."

Wilson groaned. "Oh, god."

House waved his hand in the air. "Nice as it is, it's replaceable unlike you."

"Yeah. I heard you had your leg x-rayed." Maybe not the greatest change of subject, but he needed to know.

"Is anything sacred in this place? It's fine," House insisted.

"Is that why you can't get up by yourself?" Wilson asked, eyes boring into House.

House sighed. "You weren't supposed to notice that," he said softly.

"I'm not stupid, only beat up."

House smiled slightly. "What muscle I do have is pretty bruised, and my hip is a mess. The hip's the problem right now. It's healing, thanks to Dr Chase's. I'm going to do therapy with you tomorrow. We can be swim buddies."

"Yeah? We could go skinny dipping like the good old days."

"In the whirlpool?"

"Why not?"

House laughed. And realized Wilson's hand was on the Foley. "Why are you playing with that?"

Wilson looked down. His left hand was trying to readjust the uncomfortable tube. He hadn't even realized he was doing it.. "This thing is driving me crazy. If I could get up I'd have you take it out."

House sat up. "You can feel it? Shit." He picked up his pager from the table and called Chase. "Do you have any feeling in your legs?" He swung his own legs to the side of the chair and reached for his cane.

Wilson raised his head. "Don't you dare try to get up. No I can't feel anything except the Foley.. " He laid back when House rested his chin on the cane.

"Leave it alone." House scolded.

It didn't take long. Less than five minutes, and Chase came in the door followed by Foreman. House looked up. "Think you're going to need help?" His gaze flickered from Chase to Foreman. "Get me on my feet. "

"I just looked at your x-rays, you shouldn't stand on it," Chase answered as Foreman set a paper bag on the table. House didn't ask, but assumed it was his dinner. Dinner could wait.

"Okay, I won't put any weight on it. Now, help me up."

Chase helped him to his feet and let him lean on him until he was standing at the end of the bed. House's eyes met Wilson's, they exchanged a look for a long moment before House reached down and pulled the blanket from Wilson's feet. Inwardly he took a deep breath before running his finger along the sole of Wilson's right foot. There was no reaction. His gaze remained on Wilson as he repeated the gesture on the left foot.

"Do it again." Wilson raised his head to watch him.

"Did you feel it?" He was afraid to believe that he had, There had been no automatic reaction to his finger.

Wilson smiled, "Yeah, I think I did, only slightly but it was there."

House didn't say anything but he had to steady himself with a grip in the bed rail. Foreman tapped House's arm, Chase pulled his chair to the bedside and he gratefully sank into it while Foreman repeated the procedure once more.

"It's no that I don't trust you," Foreman said with a half smile at House. House rubbed his hand over his face.

"No, it's…do what you have to do." House answered.

"Think you're ready to get this IV out?" Chase said to House, but was interrupted by the appearance of Dr Cuddy. She carried a dinner try for Wilson, and pushed the paper bag over in order to set the try on the table.

House looked up at her. "Great, it's party time. Did you bring the beer and hookers like I asked?"

"Glad to see you're feeling better," Cuddy gave House an intense look. He just grinned at her.

Foreman said something to Wilson House didn't catch. Wilson answered 'yes' and Foreman stepped up to the side of the bed, pen light at the ready to check his pupils. Grunting with approval, he stepped back and asked a series of questions. Name, date, where are you? What happened? Who are these clowns in the room with you? All of which Wilson answered without hesitation.

"Are you hungry?" Cuddy asked, reaching up t touch Wilson's arm. "I brought a dinner tray."

Wilson groaned. "Please tell me there's nothing green on it. All the kitchen seems to make is green jello and split pea soup"

House leaned forward to lift the cover from the soup. "Bingo!" Wilson groaned, House laughed. "If you eat all the jello like a good little patient, I'll share whatever Foreman brought me." He gestured at the bag.

Cuddy glared at him. He gave her no reaction, but pulled the top off the jello and reached for the spoon. He grimaced slightly at the pull against his hip, but shifted to take the pressure off his side.

Wilson sighed. "Could we do this when there aren't so many people gawking at me?" House paused, spoon in hand.

"We were just going," Chase said. "It's good to see you're doing better, Dr Wilson." Chase patted Wilson's leg before he and Foreman made their exit.

Cuddy watched House offer the spoon to Wilson. Wilson begrudgingly leaned forward to meet it. "Is there something else you wanted, Dr Cuddy?" House asked.

"Julie called again. She wants to…" House tapped the jello with the spoon. That was not what he wanted to hear.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. "I…yeah. Might as well…tomorrow?"

"You don't have to see her right now, Wilson."

Wilson's eyes drifted to House. "No. It's okay…"

"Give it a few more days. You're still very weak."

"She's my wife, Greg."

"No, she's not. She filed before she knew what happened."

Wilson closed his eyes and swore under his breath. "All the more reason for me to see her now and get it over with then."


	14. Where's My Dog?

He wasn't sleeping, couldn't sleep, despite the drugs pumped into his system. His mind was too active, too aware, filled with too many questions and not enough answers. His memory was like Swiss Cheese, things he knew and things he couldn't remember twisting over and around, leaving gaping holes.

Movement beside him caught his attention. Despite not sleeping, he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. He turned his attention from a very in depth study of the ceiling tiles to the man beside him. House shifted slightly, rubbed a hand over his face, and settled back into sleep.

He looked only slightly less pained in sleep than when he was awake. "You really should be in a proper bed, you know," Wilson sighed at the image of his best friend. House lay in his chair, pillows under his head and his knees, legs on the ottoman and crossed loosely at the ankles. His right hand was tucked under his thigh, the left lay across his chest.

"It's good to see you're awake, Dr Wilson," the night nurse came into the room, all smile sand bright eyes. "But you should be sleeping."

"I wish I could, believe me." Wilson smiled at her, wondered if he'd ever hit on her. She didn't look familiar, so maybe not. Hopefully not.

She changed the IV bag, checked the output from his Foley. He really hoped he hadn't made a pass at her. He felt vulnerable enough as it was. She finished her work and smiled at him again, standing next to the bed. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Wilson shook his head.

"How's the pain?"

"Bearable. It's my head I can't get to quiet down."

The nurse put a hand on his arm. "I could get you something to help you sleep."

He shook his head again. "I'm fine." His eyes closed, and opened again. He saw her name tag. "Maggie?" Her name didn't register with his memory, and that was a good sign.

"Yes, Dr Wilson?"

Wilson's eyes shifted to House. "How is he?"

"Dr House? He's –"

"Don't tell me he's fine. I know he's not fine. He's very much not fine."

Maggie nodded, and her expression softened. "Dr Chase has been taking care of him. I know he's having trouble keeping anything down and he's not getting around very well. I also know he's stubborn and dedicated and he hasn't left your side."

Wilson's gaze drifted to House. House stirred, moved like he wanted to turn on his side, but his leg refused to let him. He murmured something and sighed, rubbing his face again. Wilson reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Thanks, Maggie," he whispered, but he'd already forgotten she was there.

House could only sit back and watch, or not watch, as Cuddy and Chase helped Wilson into a chair. It took him a minute, once he was sitting up, to focus. House knew the feeling well. Knew too well how sitting up after laying down for so long created confusion in the body.

"I want to see her before I go to therapy."

House sat up a little straighter in his chair. With Wilson settled, Chase moved over to House and unhooked the IV. House never looked at him, his gaze was intent and focused on Wilson. "I think you should wait. You've been through a lot and –"

"And she's still my wife," Wilson answered before House could say more. He reached up to rub the back of his neck as Cuddy lay a blanket over his legs. "I appreciate everything you've done, Greg, but this is something I have to do."

House rubbed his left hand over his face. He couldn't really argue with that.

"I sent her to the cafeteria. I'll go see if she's still there." Cuddy offered. Wilson nodded. House grumbled.

"I want you to leave, House." Wilson said softly.

House looked at him, Chase tried to fade into the shadows. House sighed. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, I heard you. But I don't think…"

"It's not your call, Greg. She's my wife. I need to talk to her. Alone."

"Fine. But I'm not leaving until she gets here."

Wilson nodded. "I didn't think you would." His voice dropped to a murmur. "Please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry." Chase slipped out from behind House's chair, and slinked toward the door. Neither House nor Wilson acknowledged him and he slipped out into the hallway.

"You are. Your nostrils are flaring."

"I just think you've been through enough and you're going to PT in an hour and the wicked witch can wait."

Wilson shook his head. "You and I both know I'm lucky to be alive, but I've got a long road ahead of me. I'm going to be tired and irritable and unpleasant most of the time. I want to get this crap with Julie taken care of before that so it's one less thing I have to worry about."

House closed his eyes while Wilson was talking. He remembered how he'd felt about Stacy after his infarction, how she was the last person he wanted around, and the only person he wanted around. "Okay. You made your point. Just promise me you won't let her –"

"My marriage is over, House. It was over a long time ago. She finally got he nerve to do something about it, and I'm done. I'm thankful my left had still works so I can sign the damn papers, because believe me. Julie is the last person I want taking care of me."

House sighed and rubbed his face again. Wilson seemed to be dealing with everything just a little too calmly. Almost like he didn't care that he was laid up, that he couldn't even sit in a chair without help, that his wife had left him. Okay, House understood the last part. What he didn't understand was why James married Julie in the first place.

Two sets of footsteps echoed in the hallway. House noticed Wilson had his eyes closed. "I hope you're ready for this."

"I'm not. I have to be."

"Right." He glanced toward the door, then let his eyes drift around the room. "Where's Chase?"

"He left."

"Oh."

"Hello, James." Julie followed Cuddy into the room. Cuddy glanced at Wilson, but went to help House get up. House pushed her hands away and glared at her.

"Hello, Julie." Wilson answered. Julie bent down to kiss Wilson's cheek.

House hissed. Wilson looked at him. "I thought you were leaving."

"My leg hurts. I don't think I should move."

"Dr House," Cuddy tapped her foot. "I need a consult. In the hallway."

"Fine. Give me a god damn minute." He struggled to get up, but refused to accept Cuddy's help, though she did hand him his cane. Which he took without a word and hobbled out of the room.

Wilson didn't want to watch, he hated seeing House in pain like that. But he didn't want to look at Julie either, at least until House was gone. Now that she was standing there in front of him, he wondered why the hell he'd been so insistent.

"I'm sorry," Julie said softly.

House was out the door. The familiar pattern of his step fading as he made his way down the hall. "You look great," he said to her, Small talk. But it was true. The sea foam green that dominated her pant suit highlighted her eyes.

"You…well. You probably know you don't look so good."

"Thanks a lot, Julie."

"No. I just mean…" She sighed and sat on the end of the bed.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I know what you mean. Where's my dog? I can't believe you took my dog."

"He begged me to go. You know how he gets when he sees the suitcases."

"Where is he now?"

"My sister has him."

Wilson looked down at his mangled hand. The blanket over his lifeless legs. "I want him back. As soon as I'm out of here."

"I don't want it to be over, James."

He blinked at her. "It's been over, Julie. For a long time."

"We're not divorced yet. You don't have to sign the papers." She moved to kneel on the floor in front of him. She reached for is hand, but the splints prevented her taking hold of it.

"You can have the house, Julie. I'm going to stay with Greg when they discharge me. Which won't be for a few weeks at least. " So what if they hadn't talked actually discussed that. He knew it was only a matter of time before House suggested it. And he was, perhaps, the best person to help take care of him, he'd been there before with the learning to walk again thing. He'd know, better than anyone, what Wilson was going through on a day to day basis.

Julie dabbed the corners of her eyes. "I don't want the house, James. I want you."

"Why, Julie? Because I'm hurt? You want to take care of me?"

"No. Yes. Maybe." Julie looked down, hair falling around her face.

"I think you should go. And don't come back unless you have the papers for me to sign."

"I still love you."

"You love the idea of me. Not me."

"James…" She stood over him.

He stopped her before she could lean in and kiss him. "I really think you should go, Julie."

She pressed her forehead to his. "I don't want to go, James."

"Greg will be back any minute. You really want him to chase you off with his cane?"

"If that's what I have to do to prove myself to you."

"There's nothing to prove, Julie. It's over. Go home."

Julie sighed and moved away from him, smoothing out her blouse. "I don't know what I ever saw in you. You're such a bastard, James."

Wilson just looked down at his hand in his lap. He had nothing more to say to her. He closed his eyes and listened to her retreating footsteps. After a moment, he looked up, looked around the room as if he couldn't believe he was alone. Actually alone.

He flipped the blankets off his legs and scooted to the edge of the chair. A quick glance at the door, a tilt of his head listening for footsteps. A nurse, at least he assumed it was a nurse, talking in the distance. Nothing, no one close.

He braced both hands against the arms of he chair and took a deep breath, bit his bottom lip for added concentration, and tried to push himself up.

He knew it wasn't a smart idea. He'd been in bed, flat on his back, for a week. Eight days, actually. He knew, and yet he did it anyway.

He almost felt relieved when his legs refused to hold his weight and gravity pulled him to the floor. He hit the cold tile in a twisted heap, his IV line ripped out of his arm. Blood gushed from the site, he clamped his other hand down on it to try to stop the flow. Or at least slow it down until someone wandered by his room.

And he hoped to hell it wouldn't be House.


	15. I Want You To Leave

She stalked her way to his office with the air of a cat on the prowl. James was still her husband, and she'd be damned if she'd let Greg House take him from her. Never mind that she'd gone to a lawyer, never mind that she'd signed the papers. Papers could be ripped up.

He wasn't at his desk, but someone was. One of his staff, she assumed. She remembered him oogling at her through the glass walls of the conference room next door. He looked up from whatever paperwork he was doing as she stood there watching him, and with a look very similar to one she'd seen from Greg hundreds of times, he motioned her in.

"You're Dr Wilson's wife," he said, as if this was news.

"And you're Australian," she countered. "Do you happen to know where I might find Dr House?"

The young Australian doctor frowned. "Did you check Dr Wilson's room?"

"I was just there. Dr Cuddy kindly escorted Dr House from the room so my husband and I could talk." If she stressed the word i husband /i it certainly wasn't intentional.

"And Dr House wasn't back when you left?" He stood and moved around the desk.

Julie Wilson sighed. Australian and dumb. "Would I be here looking for him if he was there when I left?"

"You could check Dr Cuddy's office, then. Or the cafeteria. They may have gone down to get something to eat," Chase shrugged. "I just thought of something I need to do, excuse me."

He held the door open, not so subtly suggesting she leave. He locked the door behind her, and she couldn't help but notice his long, delicate fingers. When he'd finished his task, she smiled at him. "You never told me your name."

"Dr Chase," he answered curtly.

She nodded. "It's been a pleasure, Dr Chase."

He was shivering, and the tile floor seemed to be getting colder. He'd lost track of time, not knowing how long he lay there. He'd fallen on his side with his ass exposed to anyone who came into the room, and lacked both the strength and the coordination to try to cover himself. He was beyond caring, he just wanted someone, anyone to come and get him off the floor.

From what he could see the room looked like a disaster area. He had dislodged his Foley. It had leaked urine on the floor. His IV had spit blood when it ripped out. It soaked his gown and the splints on his fingers as he tried to stop the blood flow with the heel of his hand.

He sighed in relief when he heard the door slide open. His eyes closed, he didn't even have the strength to look up to see who was there.

"Jesus, Dr. Wilson, what happened?" He recognized Chase's voice, though there were two sets of feet. He cracked one eye open. Foreman.

"Be care…careful. Floor's…wet." Wilson murmured.

"Hold on," Chase said softly, voice practically dripping with concern. "We'll get you back in bed." As he spoke he yanked the blanket from the bed and covered Wilson with it.

Foreman lifted Wilson from the floor and put him on the bed. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Wilson grunted as Foreman lay him down. He turned on his side and curled up in a ball as best he could. "I….I …no….jussst coldd"

Chase pushed the call button for a nurse. Maggie came to the door almost immediately. "What….?"

"Get me two warm blankets, a basin of water and a suture kit. And page Dr. House. Wilson, we need to get that gown off. We'll get you warm in a minute."" He took Wilson's gown off and dropped it on the floor. " Maggie? Get someone to clean this mess up."

Foreman was checking his vitals. "Blood pressure and pulse both elevated. Not surprising." Wilson started shivering harder. Foreman touched his shoulder. "Hang on, Dr Wilson. We're working as fast as we can."

A pager went off behind him, he turned to look as Chase picked it up. "Damn, it's House's."

"Where is he?" Foreman asked. "He gave orders not to leave him alone."

Wilson looked up. "Not..hiss…fault."

Maggie came back with the blankets. Chase took them and wrapped them close around Wilson's body. "House's pager is here, you need to page Dr. Cuddy"

"I already did. I knew Dr. House was with her. Here's the suture kit. I'll get some water."

Chase nodded at Maggie, who promptly disappeared. He pulled the tray over to the bed, making eye contact with Foreman. "The IV ripped sideways, I'm going to put a couple of stitches in it just for safety." His gaze shifted to look down at Wilson. "After I get that done we'll get you cleaned up. You okay?"

Wilson gave a brief nod. He was starting to get warm, but the shivering didn't stop. Foreman rubbed his shoulder, hoping to give him at least a little warmth while Chase cleaned him up.

The hair at the back of his neck prickled when her pager went off. He stopped walking, and she flashed him an apologetic look as she pulled the pager off her belt. "It's Wilson."

"Shit."

She put a hand on his arm as he reached up to rub his face. "It doesn't mean anything. Could be that Julie left, and Maggie knows you don't want him to be alone."

He was already walking away. Three steps and he stopped, breathing hard.

"Let me get you a wheel chair."

"I'm fine," he growled, looking over his shoulder at her.

"You want me to go ahead then? I'll get there a hell of a lot faster."

He leaned his head back and hit it against the wall. "Get me a fucking chair,"

She was gone less than three minutes. House grumbled as he sat, hissed at the shifting pressure on his leg, and slid his cane across his lap. "What did the page say?"

"Nothing, Just his room number."

He slammed his hands on the arms of the chair. "Damn it. I shouldn't have left him. Fuck Julie. She has no right…"

"Calm down, House."

"I don't want to calm down."

"I'm not taking you to his room like this. Calm down, or I'll put you in a bed. With tranquilizers."

"You wouldn't." The elevator doors opened with a hum, several people got off, and those who remained moved to one side, making room for his chair.

"Try me."

House huffed rather dramatically, and said nothing. He grumbled when the elevator stopped on the next floor, allowing more people to get off and on. He was ready to catapult out of the chair when they reached Wilson's floor.

"You better behave yourself," Cuddy hissed at him as they approached Wilson's room.

House said nothing, and Cuddy clicked her tongue at him.

"What the hell?" House muttered seeing the blood on the floor inside the room. Foreman met him at the door, visibly unnerved by the intensity of House's gaze.

"He's…we're getting him cleaned up. Pulse and blood pressure are elevated, but he's all right," Foreman started.

House was out of the wheelchair, hobbling across the room unaware of his own pain. He reached the side of the bed and took hold of the bedrail. "What the hell happened? Where's Julie?"

"Shhhhh, shhhh, she left." Wilson sputtered through clacking teeth.

House wrenched one hand free of the rail, and put a hand on Wilson's shoulder. "Take a deep breath. Calm down." He glanced at Chase, on the other side of the bed. "He's having a panic attack, you idiots. Get me Ativan to settle him down." His gaze shifted back to Wilson. "Hey. Hey. It's okay. You're okay. You wanna tell me what happened?"

Wilson closed his eyes, House reached up to stroke his hair. "Okay. It's okay. Calm down. We'll talk in a minute. Okay?"

"Dr House?" Chase held the syringe across the bed. House shook his head, and held his hand out to show Chase it was shaking. Chase nodded and prepared Wilson's arm for the injection.

Wilson winced, House squeezed his shoulder and thanked Chase with a nod. "You're doing good. See. Just a panic attack. No worries. Right?"

Wilson took several deep breaths after the injection. "I…fell. Out of the chair."

House shook head. "Liar. You tried to get up."

"I…"

"I've been there, remember? Been there, done that, bought the Tshirt. Hell, I could even write the book."

Wilson turned his face away from House. Toward Chase. Chase tried to smile. Wilson closed his eyes. "I'm tired. I just want to sleep."

"Of course you do." House sighed. "Is anybody going to clean this mess up? I'd do it myself, but you know. My fucking leg hurts."

Cuddy stepped forward, but Chase spoke before she could. "Maggie is aware of the situation. She should be back any minute."

"I want you to leave." Wilson said almost too low to be heard.

"That is an excellent idea. All of you." House gestured at the door. "Out."

"You too, Greg," Wilson added.

"What?"

"Out."

"You're more addled than I thought if you think…"

"I asked you to leave, Greg. I expect you to leave."

House sat down in his chair with a rather defiant huff. "My chair is here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't want to argue with you."

"Then don't."

"Then leave."

"No."

Wilson sighed and closed his eyes. He brought his left arm up to rest across his face.

"Greg, I think you should come with us," Dr Cuddy said softly.

"I'm not leaving. I know what he's doing. What he's going through. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. I get that. Okay. I get it. I also know, no matter how much he tells me to get the fuck out, he doesn't want to be alone. Being alone is worse. Trust me, Dr Cuddy. I know."

"I'm sure you do, Greg," Cuddy answered, her tone calm and neutral.

House held his jaw stubbornly set. Cuddy sighed and left the room. Chase and Foreman were already gone.

House glanced at Wilson. Silent tears slid down his cheek, into his hair. House felt his heart skip a beat. He heaved himself out of the chair, and moved once again to the side of the bed. Wilson didn't react to the hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, James."

"Oh, Dr House, I…" Maggie came in with an armload of fresh sheets and a gown for Wilson.

He nodded at her. "Is Foreman still out there? I don't think I can lift him."

"He's just outside in the hallway."

"Ask him to come in." House patted Wilson's arm. "Once we get you cleaned up, I won't let anybody else in here, okay?"

Wilson nodded without looking at House.


End file.
